


By Your Side

by 99bottlestogo (darkside213)



Series: Pendragon Life [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 2nd book, Action/Adventure, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 01:57:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 92,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9268637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkside213/pseuds/99bottlestogo
Summary: Sequel to Together We Stand. Jamie Pendragon went through a lot last year. She had the adventure of a lifetime with her band of new friends and she's exhausted, or so she says. Being friends with Harry Potter won't give her much down time though. Follow Jamie through her second year at Hogwarts as she encounters: flying cars, secret chambers, and a smitten brother. Oh boy!





	1. The Final Straw

Looking back on it all now, I wonder if I would ever do anything different. Would I make a different choice, would I not stop the next spell? Would I choose to stand up for what I believed in? Going through everything that happened I decide that I would. There was always going to be the hard parts. The pain was always going to happen.

The things that you couldn’t change you embraced, and the things that you could chance, you tried as hard as hell to defy the reality of what you’d been given.

 

1-The Final Straw

 

So I’m pretty sure that it’s safe to say that Kingsley was tired of the pair of us, almost as soon as he got us back. The remaining school jitters, had Luka and I on the edge of our seats, and our stories were endless, each one more absurd than the last. At least in my case all of them were true.

By the end of story time Kingsley was shaking his head so much, that I was afraid that it was going to fall off, and I didn’t even tell him the best stuff that we promised each other that we would keep secret. The summer was dragging by fairly slowly. I was sending letters back and forth from my friends with Dionysus, but I’d only heard from Ron and Hermione so far.

Not a single letter has come from Harry, and I’ve sent him countless ones in return, some of them not very nice. Of course Luka has been able to get in touch with all of his friends, and that was grumble worthy enough for me, but that may just be because, I was stuck inside that day for a torrential downpour that hit our side of the country.

Some days we went and spent our time at the Dumbledore estate. Things with Ariana and I have gotten better, but they’re still not the greatest. She still enjoys getting on my nerves, and I grudgingly accept that she still has the power to annoy me.

I couldn’t believe it but I had finally found a down side about Hogwarts. It just made the breaks and going home just seem that much lamer. I had never really thought of my life before as dull, but now that I’m stuck in my house with two goody-goody brainiacs I’m going crazy!

Ron has been writing about getting his mum to invite Luka and I over for the rest of summer break, and I couldn’t be more excited for that to happen. As much as I do love Kingsley he’s hardly ever around, and what’s a girl to do with all this free time on her hands and no adventure to be seen.

That is as long as the adventure doesn’t involve evil three-headed demon dogs, and men who have two faces and no hair between the two of them. So that’s how I find myself in the enormous library on the Dumbledore estate. I swear one could go in one day, and not be seen for a week.

They may even have they’re own café somewhere in the bowels of this beast. I think that Luka has died and gone to nerd heaven. Its not even like he’s never been in the place before, he’s just that big of a geek. I heave a great sigh, and slump against the window that I’m leaning against. It’s a perfect day outside.

The sun is shining, and there’s literally not a cloud in the sky. We should be outside running around the estate, or at least flying around on our brooms. Its not like any muggles are going to see us. Professor Dumbledore has this place cloaked from their view.

It’s just my luck that Luka finally decided to stick up for himself and demand that we spend the day in the library. He also of so subtly mentioned that I should be focusing on my work. I may or may not have schoolwork for over the summer break but can you blame me for wanting to put it off.

I sigh again, and the youngest Dumbledore’s head pops up from the book she’s looking at. An amused look graces her face, and my scowl deepens. Besides the regular annoying that she insists on doing, she’s still been very vague and mysterious about everything that went on last year.

“So Ariana, are there any dangerous or frightening things that are going to be at Hogwarts this coming year?” I ask, shoving all thoughts of tact out the window. Ariana jumps startled by my question, and even Luka manages to come out of his own head.

“What do you mean?” She asks a nervous shake to her voice.

“Oh nothing just evil three-headed dogs and murderous teachers? I mean your grandfather isn’t going to use the school, as a new high security bank vault is he? I mean I know that Snape is scary, but I doubt even he can stop a dark wizard.” I state, glaring at her slightly.

“I think that Jamie has a fair question Ariana. I don’t mean to be rude but all of that stuff did happen last year. Jamie and Harry Potter almost died. That’s not something to be taken lightly.” Luka states. He runs a hand over his face. Ariana is biting her lip looking between the two of us like she’s not sure what she wants to do.

“Gee thanks brother of mine, I can really see that you care about me.” I snip at him in sarcasm. Luka rolls his eyes at me.

“Well it would be a lot quieter if you weren’t around, but what would I do without having someone to bug me constantly?” He demands. I growl at him, and shoot my fiercest glare his way.

“Okay, okay no blood on the books. Grandfather wouldn’t look too kindly at that. I’ll tell you what I know as long as you promise not to kill each other.” Ariana intervenes. She levels a look at the both of us. I slump back into my seat while expelling a loud breath of air. Luka closes his book and folds his hands in front of him, all of his attention on Ariana.

She sighs, and slumps back. “It’s nothing dangerous, well at least it shouldn’t be too dangerous.” She starts. I’m instantly on edge, what’s going to be going on at the castle next year? Is it something worse than Quirrell with old Voldie’s head on the back of his?

If so, I don’t think that my heart can take it anymore. One run in with him has already left me with little resolve to face him again. “What is it?” Luka demands starting to get fed up with all the dramatics leading up to this moment.

“Well since what happened to Professor Quirrell, Grandfather has been having a hard time getting someone to apply for the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Since no one of reputable quality would accept the job, he had to go with the only applicant that he had.” Ariana states, there’s a morose look creeping onto her face.

“Come on Ariana this person can’t be any worse than Quirrell, he literally had the devil growing out of his head!” I exclaim throwing my arms wide, knocking over a pile of books. Luka glares at me and grumbles under his breath that someday, my lack of respect to the written word was going to come back and haunt me. I roll my eyes, but keep my focus on the Dumbledore in the room.

“Well… he’s not bad in the sense of evil, more like bad in the way of… incredibly full of himself and as daft as a doorjamb.” She clarifies, clearing her throat with. It takes me a moment, but dread starts to flow through me. She seriously can’t be talking about who I think she is.

“Who? What? What is it?” Luka demands seeing the horror struck look on my face.

“For being so smart Luka, you can be exceptionally dim at times.” Ariana tells him, laying her hand on his arm. I glance at the interaction between the two, and watch as my brother’s ears heat up from the contact between the two of them. I scoff in disgust for an entirely different reason now.

“Seriously it’s Gilderoy Lockheart? Couldn’t we have just trapped one of the mountain trolls out in the country, and let them teach the class. At least they’d kill us on purpose!” I shout pushing to my feet, and pacing to the window. Couldn’t I catch a break?

How could I expect to learn anything at this rate in that class? I need to learn how to defend myself. I’m not going to leave Harry that unprotected again. I need it for my brother and myself as well. If I had learned anything from the end of last year was that grownups aren’t willing to go easy on you just because you’re kids.

“No that can’t be! He’ll ruin my grades! How would I be able to face anyone in my house again? I’ll be that first ever student to be kicked out of Ravenclaw? Where would I go then?” Luka groans, his head hitting the desk. Ariana runs her hand on his back calmingly.

“Please I don’t think they kick you out of your house based on your grades. If that was the case, then Neville would have had to been put in a house all by himself.” I state holding my head in my hands.

“Jamie that’s not nice!” Ariana snaps at me. I heave a sigh and spin around to face her.

“I’m not being mean Ariana, I’m just stating a fact. Most of the school knows this and Neville does himself. I like the boy truly, but we both know that’s the case.” I defend my actions slightly. This is all too much to process at once. I can’t believe that Professor Dumbledore is letting that git be my professor.

Maybe he doesn’t remember what had happened last time. My family happens to run in the same circles that Lockheart happens to be apart of. I don’t know how he got there exactly. I know that he’s supposed to be famous at being a dark magic fighter, but I haven’t seen any great performed by him ever.

One day we were all in a banquet hall for the presentation of wizarding awards. Kingsley was providing security for the event, and Dumbledore had promised to watch over Luka and me along with Ariana. Well to entertain ourselves, we were playing a game of exploding snap in the back corner away from people.

We were told that we were allowed to play as long as it wasn’t that loud that it would disturb the adults. Well I had managed to get both of my eyebrows singed off, and Lockheart had happened to be walking by at the time. Luka was laughing at me, while Ariana was telling me that I looked cute without my eyebrows.

Lockheart had immediately offered his assistance in the regrowth of them. Kingsley had made his circuit back around to us, and tried desperately to dissuade Lockheart, but the man insisted. So with a toss of his magenta robe, he muttered a spell, and my head started to feel dizzy.

Once the world righted itself again, I promptly throw up, and broke out into a fever. Kingsley had pushed Lockheart aside, and started murmuring the counter spells for what he had ended up casting. He had cast a concussion spell on me instead of an eyebrow regrowth one.

Kingsley was the one to regrow my eyebrows in the end. Since that day, the three of us have been wary of the man, and have discovered that he happens to be a bigger dunce than we had originally thought that he was. I swear that I have no idea how that man ever happened to do all the things that he writes in his books.

Luka has never read his books and he’s the biggest bookworm that I know aside from Kingsley. “Please tell me that your grandfather is just joking. He loves to kid around with us. Or maybe you just misheard him!” Luka pleads for this not to be the case.

Ariana just bites her lip and shakes her head ruefully. I let out a groan and fall against the window. “So not only is there going to still be Snape now there’s going to be Lockheart as well. Gee this year couldn’t get any better.” I mutter under my breath.

Just then the fireplace across the room we’re in the flame light up green. Kingsley comes out of it coughing slightly, and dusting soot off of his robes. “Kingsley!” I cry jumping to my feet. I dash over to my guardian throwing my arms around him tightly. I almost knock him off his feet with the force of my hug.

He chuckles and wraps his arms around me. “Its good to see you too Jamie. It feels like it’s been months.” He says softly. I nuzzle my head into his shoulder more. I don’t want him to leave again. It has been forever since we’ve had a few days alone now.

“What’s up Kingsley? I thought that you were still working?” Luka asks, coming over to the two of us. I reluctantly pull away from him, and stand next to my brother. Kingsley smiles at Ariana and turns his attention back to us.

“Well the case that I’m on has just gotten a new development and it’s going to take me out of country for a while. I’m sorry guys, I know that you wanted to hang out some more, and I have as well, but summer is starting to wind down. Now I won’t be leaving you alone.” He starts. The smile slips off my face.

I can’t believe that he has to work again. “Well where are we going?” Luka asks setting his face straight like the news doesn’t bother him at all when I know that it actually does.

“I’ve been in contact with Arthur and Molly Weasley a lot in the past few weeks. Apparently their son Ron has been adamant about you coming over to spend time there for the rest of the summer. Now I didn’t want to intrude, but Molly assured me that two more kids would be no problem for her.” Kingsley informs us.

Immediately some of the pain and sadness that I had originally felt started to melt away. I was going to get to spend the rest of my holiday break with my friend who I had hardly seen this break so far. A smile begins to form on my face. I can’t believe that I’m finally going to be able to get away from the library!

Luka didn’t look as thrilled about this plan as I did, but I chalked that up to him having to actually leave a library. So with that we said farewell to Ariana and promised to see her again when we all went shopping for school supplies. When we got home, we packed all of our stuff and put them in our trunks so that we would be ready for school when summer ended.

Kingsley gave both of us a handful of floo powder and I stepped into the fireplace after by brother disappeared into a puff of green smoke. I got in and threw my powder at the ground calling out, “The burrow!” vanishing myself. I hated the feeling of spinning out of control that comes from transportation by floo system.

Suddenly the world righted itself again, and I’m stumbling out onto the mat in front of the Weasley’s chimney. A hand reaches out and stabilizes me. I turn my gaze up, and I’m greeted with the sight of a madly grinning redhead. “Blimey Jamie it’s good to see you again!” Ron cries, wrapping his arms around me in a hug.

I look around the Burrow, and notice Mrs. Weasley taking care of my motion sick brother. I swear that you can’t take him anywhere. I wonder what’s going to happen when we learn how to apparate when we’re older? Ron starts pulling me by the arm into the kitchen that’s connected to the living room.

I spot my favorite pair of redheaded twins sitting at the table, hunched over and whispering about something. “Okay we’re all here now.” Ron says in a hushed tone, pushing me down into a seat next to George. Fred grins at me, and George places a hand on my shoulder.

“Glad to see you again Jamie. We’ve been missing our partner in crime. Wait till you see all the pranks we’ve come up with.” George smirks at me. Ron glares at his brother.

“Anyway, we can finally pull off our plan now.” Fred says, giving his twin a pointed look, but I can still see the mischievous glint in his eye.

“What’s going on? Why do you need me exactly?” I demand in a hushed tone, for Mrs. Weasley’s voice is getting louder and closer.

“Well Dad happens to have procured a muggle contraption called an automobile, or as more up to speed people call it a ‘car’. What mum doesn’t know is that he enchanted it, so that the car can fly.” Ron interrupts his older brothers. They both throw a muffin at him from the basket that’s on the table. Ron only shrugs and takes a bite out of the one that he managed to catch.

“Don’t worry dear, I know a tonic that will set your nerves right in just a jiffy!” Mrs. Weasley’s voice comes from right near the kitchen. She walks in, and her worried look is replaced with a beaming smile seeing me sitting at the table. I get up quickly so that the motherly woman can squish me in a hug.

I smile into her shirt. This is why Luka doesn’t mind being fussed after. We haven’t had a motherly figure to look out for us since we were three. That’s a long time to be going without one when you’re only twelve. “Jamie dear it’s wonderful to see you again, my I swear that you and your brother have shot up like weeds just like Ron!” Mrs. Weasley exclaims holding my face between her hands to get a better look at me.

I grin at her softly. Luka and I have always been taller for our age. I’m beginning to get to her height, but then again Mrs. Weasley happens to be a little on the short side. “Its good to see you too Mrs. Weasley. Thank you for letting us stay here for the remainder of the summer.” I thank her.

She only smiles at me, and tuts that I expect too little from people. With that she let’s me go, and hurries back to making a potion for my brother. I can still hear him moaning from the other room. I sink back down into my seat next to George and the four of us wait for Mrs. Weasley to leave the room again.

As soon as her apron flicks around the corner, Fred begins speaking again. “Okay mates it’s time to employ operation rescue Harry from wherever the hell he may be!” Fred whispers excitedly. My eyes widen in shock at his statement.

“How in Merlin’s Beard are we going to do that?” I hiss back at them. George grins at me, and the other two boys follow along.

“Weren’t you listening to little Ronniekins a little bit ago? We’re going to fly to him that’s how!” George beams. I feel my stomach churn a little at the idea of taking a flying car with people who are too young to be able to drive it. Heck we have no idea how to even operate a muggle car.

“Come on Jamie, we’re doing this for Harry. Don’t you want to help your best mate out?” Ron asks me. I bite down on my lower lip. He’s right. I don’t know what Harry’s going through right now, and what kind of a friend would I be if I let him sit there and suffer like that?

“Okay does anyone actually know how to fly a car, let alone get to Surrey?” I question. Three blank dumbfounded looks mirror my own. Oh, this is going to be fun.


	2. The Flying Car and the Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

2-The Flying Car and the Prisoner

 

So if there is ever a moral of this story to be found it is to never trust a group of redheaded boys who swear that they can learn how to drive a flying car in the course of a few hours. That is never a good idea. I should have told them that they were out of their minds, and that I was going to bed.

I never did claim that I was the brightest person now did I? So after everyone finally retired to bed, we still had to wait for them all to fall asleep. I was bunking with the youngest of the Weasleys and the only girl of the whole lot. She had finally turned eleven, and she would be making the famed first ride on the scarlet engine with us to Hogwarts.

She was a sweet girl a little on the shy side, but I could tell that she was desperate for some attention. She told me that she wasn’t used to having friends who were girls, only the girl who lived over the hill from the Weasleys. Ginny informed me that even though she was a little strange, she still liked the girl. Luna Lovegood is her name.

I think that I’ve heard of a Lovegood before but I can’t be certain. I don’t pay nearly enough attention to all the wizarding politics as I should. Kingsley will drone on and on about that. You’re going to be the head of the Pendragon estate along with your brother when you grow up, you should be spending more time learning about this.

He would lecture and I would pretend to listen. I don’t see the point in worrying about all of that stuff yet I’m still young. I still have time. So finally around ten thirty Ginny falls off to sleep and I send up a silent prayer. The girl is sweet but boy could she talk a girl’s ear off!

Silently I get up from the bed that Mrs. Weasley had conjured and put into Ginny’s room. I glance over to make sure that the girl’s still sleeping and creep over to my trunk. I pull on my clothes again, and open the door slightly, going out onto the landing.

After a few moments I close the door behind me, and continue to sneak down the stairs. I hit a particularly squeaky one, and I inhale a breath of air. After a few seconds of waiting no one comes. I guess that I was worried about nothing in the end. I finally get to the bottom, and make my way into the kitchen.

I see my favorite pair of twins beside my brother and me, sitting on the table pouring over what looks to be some sort of instruction manual. I come over to they’re side and peer at it as well. It looks sort of elvish but that can’t be, muggles don’t understand elvish.

“Are you sure that you’re going to be able to drive the car?” I ask for probably the hundredth time. George rolls his eyes at me, while Fred puts his hand on my shoulder.

“Jamie you see how well our pranks turn out. We plan those like crazy and they all work out in the end. The same will happen with our rescue mission. Besides we’re doing this for Harry.” Fred soothes me. I sigh and nod my head.

“Where’s Ron? Shouldn’t we be going?” I question. George looks up from the manual again, and checks the time.

“Ron’s room is all the way at the top. It always takes him longer to sneak down than anyone else.” He says turning back to the page. Fred wanders back over to the living room to see if he can see his brother. Five minutes later Ron is standing beside me as we put our coats on.

“I can’t wait to get behind the wheel. Dad’s been promising for ages that he’d try it out but he’s never gotten around to actually doing so.” George grins. The twins lead us into a shed that they explain is they’re dad’s workshop. Once they turn on the light, my eyes widen.

Before me is the greatest collection of muggle objects that I’ve seen in one room beside from an actual muggle house. “Blimey.” I breathe. Ron just grins at me, and pulls me along to the back of the shop after the twins. They grab a set of keys from the hook, and turn the lights off again, going out the back door.

Once we get there, I’m greeted with a little blue four-door automobile. It looks like a lot of the other muggle cars that I’ve seen, but this one’s special. This one can fly. Ron opens the backseat door, and climbs in. I follow behind him pulling the door closed once I’m in.

Fred slipped behind the wheel before George could. “Fred!” George complained. Fred just grinned at his brother, and tutted at him.

“You’ve got to be quicker than that Georgie if you want to fly the car.” He smirked in response. Grumbling George got in beside him. After a minute the car sputtered to life, and Fred started pulling out from the parking space where the car has resided. He turns onto the main stretch of the road, and pushes harder on a pedal, and the car starts to go faster.

I grab Ron’s hand tightly, and squeeze it in fear. Maybe I should have hugged my brother tonight. I may never see him again. Ron squeezes back and I realize that he’s just as afraid as I am. Fred pulls a lever, and suddenly we’re not on the ground anymore. The car is floating into the air, taking us along with it. Oh Merlin!

Finally I take a chance and glance out the window. All I can see are wispy clouds in the dark night, and the sky in front of us that the car’s headlights are illuminating. I let out a whoop of joy. Holy Merlin we’re flying! “Wicked!” Ron and I shout together.

George is cheering from the front seat, and Fred is now sporting a particularly smug look on his face. “Okay now which way to Surrey?” Fred calls out. 

* * *

 

Three wrong turns later, and a pretty spectacular dive to avoid a group of geese later, we enter the airspace above Little Whinging, Surrey. It takes us a few minutes but we finally are able to find Privet Drive, after I hang half way out of the window to read the sign that’s along the side of the road.

It’s times like these when I really wish that I could use magic. This whole ordeal would be far easier, but I do have to admit it wouldn’t be half as fun. We coast along until we find number four. It’s a well-kept little house that looks exactly like all the others. I grin thinking about what we’re about to do.

I almost couldn’t believe it when Mr. Weasley had come home tonight for dinner and informed all of us that Harry had gotten a reprimand for using magic in the presence of a muggle. He’s underage he can’t be doing that! If Hermione were there, she would have blown a gasket.

We come to a stop in front of a barred window in front of the house. Fred makes sure to flare the lights in the window so that Harry could see that something was outside waiting for him. It took a few minutes but in the window appeared the image of a black haired boy who’s hair was sticking up in three different directions, fumbling to put on his glasses properly.

I couldn’t help but grin largely at the sight. I hadn’t seen my best friend in so long. Harry’s eyes widen as soon as he has his glasses on properly. “Ron!” breathes Harry, creeping to the window and pushing it up so they could talk through the bars. “Ron, Jamie, how did you — What the — ?” Harry is speechless.

Harry’s mouth has fallen open and I hear one of the twins snicker at his response. “Hey there boy wonder.” I greet him with a grin.

“All right Harry?” George asks him, partially concerned and partially out of mirth.

“Forget that what’s been going on?” Ron demands. “Why haven’t you been answering my letters? I’ve asked you to stay about twelve times, and then Dad came home and said you’d got an official warning for using magic in front of Muggles —”

“It wasn’t me — and how did he know?” Harry questions.

“He works for the Ministry,” Ron explains. “You know we’re not supposed to do spells outside school —”

“You should talk,” says Harry, staring at the floating car.

“Oh, this doesn’t count,” Ron grins. “We’re only borrowing this. It’s Dad’s, we didn’t enchant it. But doing magic in front of those Muggles you live with —”

“I told you, I didn’t — but it’ll take too long to explain now — look, can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked me up and won’t let me come back, and obviously I can’t magic myself out, because the Ministry’ll think that’s the second spell I’ve done in three days, so —”

“Stop gibbering,” says Ron. “We’ve come to take you home with us.”

“But you can’t magic me out either —” Harry tries.

“We don’t need to,” Ron explains, jerking his head toward the front seat and grinning. “You forget who I’ve got with me.” I grin at Harry’s dumbfounded expression. Never doubt the Weasley twins, that’ll always get you more trouble then it’s worth.

“So are you coming or not?” I question, leaning against the window. Harry stares at me for a second then grins.

“Well I can’t be letting you have all the fun now breaking the rules by yourself.” Harry smiles. I beam at my best friend and nudge Ron.

“Tie that around the bars,” Fred says, throwing the end of a rope to Harry.

“If the Dursleys wake up, I’m dead,” Harry warns as he ties the rope tightly around a bar and Fred revved up the car.

“Don’t worry,” Fred grins, “and stand back.”

Harry moved back into the shadows next to Hedwig, who seemed to have realized how important this was and kept still and silent. The car revved louder and louder and suddenly, with a crunching noise, the bars were pulled clean out of the window as Fred drove straight up in the air.

I grip onto the back of the seat in front of me tightly for dear life. With a small crunch the bars are dangling from the end of the rope in the air. Ron and I scramble over to the rope, working together to heave the bars into the back of the car. By the time we’re done the two of us are panting from the exertion.

Fred carefully reverses as close as he can to the window of Harry’s room. “Get in,” Ron says.

“But all my Hogwarts stuff — my wand — my broomstick —” Harry starts.

“Where is it?” I demand.

“Locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and I can’t get out of this room —”

“No problem,” George says from the front passenger seat. “Out of the way, Harry.”

Fred and George climb catlike through the window into Harry’s room. Ron and I watch as Fred and George pick the lock on Harry’s bedroom door as if they were simply turning the handle.

“A lot of wizards think it’s a waste of time, knowing this sort of Muggle trick,” says Fred, “but we feel they’re skills worth learning, even if they are a bit slow.”

There was a small click and the door swung open.

“So — we’ll get your trunk — you grab anything you need from your room and hand it out to Ron,” whispers George.

“Watch out for the bottom stair — it creaks,” Harry whispers back as the twins disappear onto the dark landing.

Harry dashes around his room, collecting his things and passing them out of the window to Ron. Then he went to help Fred and George heave his trunk up the stairs. Ron and I wait patiently for the three of them to come back. I start trying to make more room for Harry to actually sit in the back seat with the two of us. I can’t help but be excited.

Is this what Kingsley feels when he goes about his Auror duties? I could understand wanting to put yourself in a risky position now. At last, panting, they reached the landing, then carried the trunk through Harry’s room to the open window. Fred climbs back into the car to pull with Ron and me, while Harry and George push from the bedroom side. Inch by inch, the trunk slides through the window.

A coughing noise could be heard.

“A bit more,” pants Fred, who was pulling from inside the car. “One good push —”

Harry and George threw their shoulders against the trunk and it slides out of the window into the back seat of the car.

“Okay, let’s go,” George whispers. But as Harry climbs onto the windowsill there came a sudden loud screech from behind him, followed immediately by the thunder of Harry’s Uncle Vernon’s voice.

“THAT RUDDY OWL!”

“I’ve forgotten Hedwig!” Harry cries alarmed. I bite my lower lip in worry. We’re going to be caught now. We were so close! I wonder what Kingsley will say when he comes to bail me out of muggle prison?

Harry tore back across the room as the landing light clicked on — he snatched up Hedwig’s cage, dashed to the window, and passed it out to Ron. He was scrambling back onto the chest of drawers when Uncle Vernon hammered on the unlocked door — and it crashed open.

For a split second, Uncle Vernon stood framed in the doorway; then he let out a bellow like an angry bull and dived at Harry, grabbing him by the ankle.

Ron, Fred, and I seized Harry’s arms and pulled as hard as we could.

“Petunia!” roars Uncle Vernon. “He’s getting away! HE’S GETTING AWAY!”

But the we gave a gigantic tug and Harry’s leg slid out of Uncle Vernon’s grasp — Harry was in the car — he’d slammed the door shut —

“Put your foot down, Fred!” Ron yells, and the car shot suddenly toward the moon. I again grip on Ron, but this time I have Harry to hold as well, and that thought alone is enough to make me smile. It’s cramped in the car but it’s worth it to see my friend again, and to know that he’s okay now.

Harry turns around and shouts out the window. “See you next summer!” I grin at my friend and pull him into a tight hug as soon as his body’s back inside the car. Harry grins at me and returns the hug tightly. The Weasley boys are roaring with laughter at Harry’s smug comment to his family.

“Let Hedwig out,” Harry tells Ron. “She can fly behind us. She hasn’t had a chance to stretch her wings for ages.”

George hands the hairpin to Ron and, a moment later, Hedwig soars joyfully out of the window to glide alongside us like a ghost.

“So — what’s the story, Harry?” Ron says impatiently. “What’s been happening?” Harry goes on to explain about the appearance of Dobby the house elf. My brow is knotting at the mention of the elf. Only old rich families really employ house elves in their care any longer.

Luka, Kingsley, and I had made the decision years ago to let any remaining elves on my parent’s estate free. Harry says that Dobby was warning him that he must not go back to Hogwarts, that Harry wouldn’t be safe there. Ron thought that the elft was barmy for Hogwarts was the safest place to be.

I didn’t exactly agree on account of what happened last year, and the fact that one Mr. Lockhart would not be employed as my professor. Harry also said that Dobby was holding his mail for he thought that Harry wouldn’t want to go back if, he didn’t think that his friends were writing him.

That got me mad. When I see that little creature again, I don’t know what I’m going to do to him. He also explained about what happened with the violet pudding that had fallen onto his uncle’s business guest’s wife’s head. There was a long silence that followed the end of this story.

In my opinion it was just outlandish enough to fit Harry. “Very fishy,” says Fred finally.

“Definitely dodgy,” agrees George. “So he wouldn’t even tell you who’s supposed to be plotting all this stuff?”

“I don’t think he could,” Harry explains. “I told you, every time he got close to letting something slip, he started banging his head against the wall.”

We see Fred and George look at each other.

“What, you think he was lying to me?” Harry says.

“Well,” Fred starts, “put it this way — house-elves have got powerful magic of their own, but they can’t usually use it without their master’s permission. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you coming back to Hogwarts. Someone’s idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?”

“Yes,” say the three of us in the back, instantly.

“Draco Malfoy,” Harry explains. “He hates me.” Now I was thinking more along the lines of Moldy Wart but okay Malfoy fits as well.

“Draco Malfoy?” says George, turning around. “Not Lucius Malfoy’s son?”

“Must be, it’s not a very common name, is it?” Harry says. “Why?”

“I’ve heard Dad talking about him,” said George. “He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who.”

“And when You-Know-Who disappeared,” said Fred, craning around to look at Harry, “Lucius Malfoy came back saying he’d never meant any of it. Load of dung — Dad reckons he was right in You-Know-Who’s inner circle.”

I of course had already heard these rumors before, and I happen to know that they’re true for a fact. Kingsley hates havening to associate with Malfoy’s family but sometime it comes with the job. You can’t pick who you get to serve.

“I don’t know whether the Malfoys own a house-elf. . . .” Harry starts. They do.

“Well, whoever owns him will be an old Wizarding family, and they’ll be rich,” says Fred.

“Yeah, Mum’s always wishing we had a house-elf to do the ironing,” says George. “But all we’ve got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden. House-elves come with big old manors and castles and places like that; you wouldn’t catch one in our house. . . .”

“I’m glad we came to get you, anyway,” Ron says. “I was getting really worried when you didn’t answer any of my letters. I thought it was Errol’s fault at first —”

“Who’s Errol?” Harry questions. Took the question right out of my mouth.

“Our owl. He’s ancient. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d collapsed on a delivery. So then I tried to borrow Hermes —”

“Who?” I question now.

“The owl Mum and Dad bought Percy when he was made prefect,” says Fred from the front. I grin at the sound of jealousy coming from him. I can understand the need for one’s own owl. My brother borrows Di all the time.

“But Percy wouldn’t lend him to me,” Ron says. “Said he needed him.”

“Percy’s been acting very oddly this summer,” George explains, frowning. “And he has been sending a lot of letters and spending a load of time shut up in his room. . . . I mean, there’s only so many times you can polish a prefect badge. . . . You’re driving too far west, Fred,” he adds, pointing at a compass on the dashboard. Fred twiddles the steering wheel.

“So, does your dad know you’ve got the car?” Harry wonders, guessing the answer.

“Er, no,” Ron blushes, “he had to work tonight. Hopefully we’ll be able to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it.”

“What does your dad do at the Ministry of Magic, anyway?” Harry asks. I already know the answer, but it’s good enough to sit back and listen to everyone talk. Now that the adrenalin is running off, I’m beginning to get a little sleepy. Harry allows me to lean into him, and rest my head on his shoulder.

The boys go on to explain about their dad in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department. Fred laughs. “Yeah, Dad’s crazy about everything to do with Muggles; our shed’s full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts spells on it, and puts it back together again. If he raided our house he’d have to put himself under arrest. It drives Mum mad.”

“That’s the main road,” George cries, peering down through the windshield. “We’ll be there in ten minutes. . . . Just as well, it’s getting light. . . .” A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the east. Great I’ve been up all night. I really could use some rest, but something tells me that I’m not going to be getting it.

“We’re a little way outside the village,” says George. “Ottery St. Catchpole.”

Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red sun was now gleaming through the trees.

“Touchdown!” says Fred as, with a slight bump, we hit the ground. I grin happy to be back on the ground finally. As much as I like flying, I must admit that I like it on a broom much more. Now that it was light I finally got a good look at the house that I had been inside of.

It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic (which, I reminded himself, it probably was). Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, THE BURROW. Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.

“It’s not much,” Ron says.

“It’s wonderful,” said Harry happily, thinking of Privet Drive.

“Brilliant!” I grin. We get out of the car.

“Now, we’ll go upstairs really quietly,” Fred explains, “and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast. Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going, ‘Mum, look who turned up in the night!’ and she’ll be all pleased to see Harry and no one need ever know we flew the car.”

“Right,” Ron replies. “Come on, Harry, I sleep at the — at the top —” I turn to go inside as well, but I stop cold when I see who’s coming at us. Ron has gone a nasty green color is eyes fixed on the house, and the twins have both winced.

Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a saber-toothed tiger.

“Ah,” Fred says.

“Oh, dear,” George returns. Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of us, her hands on her hips, staring from one guilty face to the next. She is wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of the pocket.

“So,” she says.

“Morning, Mum,” George says, in what he clearly thought was a jaunty, winning voice.

“Have you any idea how worried I’ve been?” growls Mrs. Weasley in a deadly whisper. I wince. I haven’t heard this tone before. Kingsley only gets this disappointed air about him when one of us has gotten into trouble. Now that I’ve heard what it could be, I’m not sure which one is worse.

“Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to —”

All three of Mrs. Weasley’s sons were taller than she was, but they cowered as her rage broke over them. “Beds empty! No note! Car gone — could have crashed — out of my mind with worry — did you care? — never, as long as I’ve lived — you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy —”

“Perfect Percy,” Fred mutters.

“YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY’S BOOK!” yells Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred’s chest. “You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job —”

It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry and me. “And you Jamie Pendragon. Don’t you dare think that you can get away with this scot free as well! I’ve talked to Kingsley already. He was worried sick! I had to talk him out of coming back to England to find you! You should be ashamed of yourself.” Mrs. Weasley says.

I bite my lower lip, and advert my gaze to the ground. Okay she has the guilt part down. I try to keep my tears back, but it just doesn’t work. Mrs. Weasley finally turns onto Harry. I see him take a step back out of my blurry vision. “I’m very pleased to see you, Harry, dear,” she says. “Come in and have some breakfast.”

Harry glances to us, but Ron nods his head encouragingly. I can’t seem to stop my tears from coming. I don’t even know why. Mrs. Weasley turns back around when she realizes that I’m not following. She takes one look at my face, and her brow furrows in concern.

“Jamie dear what’s the matter? I’m sorry for yelling, I was just worried about you that’s all.” Mrs. Weasley murmurs to me softly, while holding me by the shoulders. The touch doesn’t help me at all though. It just makes me start to cry harder. “Shh… don’t cry now love.” She soothes.

After a few minutes the tears finally stop. Mrs. Weasley wipes my cheeks and eyes, and looks into them for a long moment. “What’s wrong Jamie?” She asks me softly. I open my mouth to speak but no words come out. I try it again, and this time I’m able to talk.

“You sound like a mum.” Is all that I can explain. Mrs. Weasley looks confused for a second then her eyes widen in realization. She sighs, and gathers me to her in a hug.

“Oh Jamie, I know you miss your parents. I miss them as well. They were dear friends. I know that I can’t bring them back for you, but I want you to know that I’ll always be here for you when you need me. I won’t replace your mum, but I’ll always be here.” She tells me. I have to bite back the sob that threatens to burst forth.

* * *

 

When I’m finally able to collect myself we venture back into the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley is now clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw sausages into the frying pan. Every now and then she mutters things like “don’t know what you were thinking of,” and “never would have believed it.”

“I don’t blame you, dear,” she assures Harry, tipping eight or nine sausages onto his plate. “Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we’d come and get you ourselves if you hadn’t written back to Ron by Friday. But really” (she was now adding three fried eggs to his plate), “flying an illegal car halfway across the country — anyone could have seen you —”

She flicks her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves, clinking gently in the background. “It was cloudy, Mum!” Fred cries.

“You keep your mouth closed while you’re eating!” Mrs. Weasley snaps.

“They were starving him, Mum!” George complains.

“And you!” says Mrs. Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened expression that she started cutting Harry bread and buttering it for him.

At that moment there was a diversion in the form of a small, redheaded figure in a long nightdress, who appeared in the kitchen, gave a small squeal, and ran out again.

“Ginny,” Ron informs Harry in an undertone. “My sister. She’s been talking about you all summer.” I roll my eyes at that statement. Yes she does happen to have a fascination for my best friend, but I happen to think that it’s healthy for her to have a crush at this age.

“Yeah, she’ll be wanting your autograph, Harry,” Fred says with a grin, but he caught his mother’s eye and bent his face over his plate without another word. Nothing more was said until all five plates were clean, which took a surprisingly short time.

“Blimey, I’m tired,” yawns Fred, setting down his knife and fork at last. “I think I’ll go to bed and —”

“You will not,” snaps Mrs. Weasley. “It’s your own fault you’ve been up all night. You’re going to de-gnome the garden for me; they’re getting completely out of hand again —”

“Oh, Mum —” George whines.

“And you too,” she said, glaring at Ron and George. “You can go up to bed, dear,” she added to Harry. “You didn’t ask them to fly that wretched car —”

Harry apparently didn’t want to go to bed though. “I’ll help Mrs. Weasley. I’ve never seen a de-gnoming before.” Harry tells her.

“That’s very sweet of you, dear, but it’s dull work,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Now, let’s see what Lockhart’s got to say on the subject —”And she pulled a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece. George groans, and I wince.

“Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden —” George starts. And I liked Mrs. Weasley so much. Why, why does she have to like that blubbering idiot?

Written across it in fancy gold letters were the words Gilderoy Lockhart’s Guide to Household Pests. There was a big photograph on the front of a very good-looking wizard with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. He kept winking cheekily at us from the back cover.

Oh Merlin how the hell am I going to get through this year? Just looking at his face gives me nightmares alone. Mrs. Weasley seemed oblivious to our distress; she just beamed down at his photo. “Oh, he is marvelous,” she says. “He knows his household pests, all right, it’s a wonderful book. . . .”

“Mum fancies him,” says Fred, in a very audible whisper.

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Fred,” replies Mrs. Weasley, her cheeks rather pink. “All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide you if there’s a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it.”

The boys push back from the table and I get up to follow them. “If its okay with you, I’m just going to help out.” I say softly. Mrs. Weasley jerks up from the book in front of her, and nods her head at me. She smiles softly at me, and shoos me out of the kitchen to catch up with the boys.

* * *

 

I caught up when the boys were standing in what I assumed was the garden. “Muggles have garden gnomes, too, you know,” Harry tells us as we crossed the lawn.

“Yeah, I’ve seen those things they think are gnomes,” says Ron, bent double with his head in a peony bush, “like fat little Santa Clauses with fishing rods. . . .”

There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered, and Ron straightens up. “This is a gnome,” he tells us grimly.

“Gerroff me! Gerroff me!” squeals the gnome. It was certainly nothing like Santa Claus. It was small and leathery looking, with a large, knobby, bald head exactly like a potato. Ron holds it at arm’s length as it kicked out at him with its horny little feet; he grasps it around the ankles and turns it upside down.

“This is what you have to do,” he explains. He raises the gnome above his head (“Gerroff me!”) and starts to swing it in great circles like a lasso. Seeing the shocked look on Harry’s face, Ron added, “It doesn’t hurt them — you’ve just got to make them really dizzy so they can’t find their way back to the gnomeholes.”

He lets go of the gnome’s ankles: It flies twenty feet into the air and lands with a thud in the field over the hedge.

“Pitiful,” Fred states. “I bet I can get mine beyond that stump.” And thus the competition was born. I had de-gnomed a few gardens in my time so I wasn’t that rusty. Harry quickly learned not to feel sorry for them for one of them bit him. He flung the gnome off of him with all his might.

“Wow, Harry — that must’ve been fifty feet. . . .” I say with awe. The air is soon thick with flying gnomes.

See, they’re not too bright,” says George, seizing five or six gnomes at once. “The moment they know the de-gnoming’s going on they storm up to have a look. You’d think they’d have learned by now just to stay put.”

Soon, the crowd of gnomes in the field started walking away in a straggling line, their little shoulders hunched. “They’ll be back,” Ron warns as they watched the gnomes disappear into the hedge on the other side of the field. “They love it here. . . . Dad’s too soft with them; he thinks they’re funny. . . .” I can’t help but smile at that. Mr. Weasley is a funny man, but I like him lots.

Just then, the front door slammed.

“He’s back!” says George. “Dad’s home!” We hurry through the garden and back into the house.

Mr. Weasley is slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and his eyes closed. He is a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children’s. He is wearing long green robes, which are dusty and travel-worn.

“What a night,” he mumbles, groping for the teapot as we all sit down around him. “Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned. . . .”

Mr. Weasley takes a long gulp of tea and sighs. “Find anything, Dad?” asks Fred eagerly.

“All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle,” yawns Mr. Weasley. “There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn’t my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that’s the Committee on Experimental Charms, thank goodness. . . .”

“Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?” George asks him puzzled.

“Just Muggle-baiting,” sighs Mr. Weasley. “Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it. . . . Of course, it’s very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking — they’ll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they’ll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it’s staring them in the face. . . . But the things our lot have taken to enchanting, you wouldn’t believe —”

“LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?” Mrs. Weasley has appeared, holding a long poker like a sword. Mr. Weasley’s eyes jerk open. He stares guiltily at his wife.

“C-cars, Molly, dear?”

“Yes, Arthur, cars,” repeats Mrs. Weasley, her eyes flashing. “Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while really he was enchanting it to make it fly.”

Mr. Weasley blinks. “Well, dear, I think you’ll find that he would be quite within the law to do that, even if — er — he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth. . . . There’s a loophole in the law, you’ll find. . . . As long as he wasn’t intending to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly wouldn’t —”

“Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!” shouts Mrs. Weasley. “Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Harry arrived this morning in the car you weren’t intending to fly!”

“Harry?” says Mr. Weasley blankly. “Harry who?” He looks around, sees Harry, and jumps.

“Good lord, is it Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you, Ron’s told us so much about —”

“Your sons flew that car to Harry’s house and back last night!” shouts Mrs. Weasley. “What have you got to say about that, eh?”

“Did you really?” cries Mr. Weasley eagerly. I grin at the man. Oh yes, he is definitely becoming one of my favorite adults.

“Did it go all right? I — I mean,” he falters as sparks fly from Mrs. Weasley’s eyes, “that — that was very wrong, boys — very wrong indeed. . . .”

“Let’s leave them to it,” Ron mutters to Harry and me as Mrs. Weasley swells like a bullfrog. “Come on, I’ll show you my bedroom.” Harry and I quickly get up and scamper along behind Ron. I definitely don’t need to see Mrs. Weasley blow up again like I just had a few minutes ago. I don’t think that my nerves could handle it.

We slip out of the kitchen and down a narrow passageway to an uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up through the house. On the third landing, a door stood ajar. Harry and I just caught sight of a pair of bright brown eyes staring at him before it closed with a snap.

“Ginny,” Ron sighs. “You don’t know how weird it is for her to be this shy. She never shuts up normally —”

We climb two more flights until we reach a door with peeling paint and a small plaque on it, saying RONALD’S ROOM.

I step in, my head almost touching the sloping ceiling, and blink. It was like walking into a furnace: Nearly everything in Ron’s room seemed to be a violent shade of orange: the bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling. Then I realized that Ron had covered nearly every inch of the shabby wallpaper with posters of the same seven witches and wizards, all wearing bright orange robes, carrying broomsticks, and waving energetically.

“Seriously Ron? Are you sure that you didn’t just steal the Chudley Cannons’ locker room and use it as your bedroom instead?” I tease him. Ron scowls at me, and gives me a playful shove, into the room further. Harry steps in after us and takes in Ron’s room.

I go over to the pack of self-shuffling cards, and start to mess with them, so that the cards have to reshuffle. Harry goes over and stares out the window, looking down at the yard far below.

“It’s a bit small,” comments Ron quickly. “Not like that room you had with the Muggles. And I’m right underneath the ghoul in the attic; he’s always banging on the pipes and groaning. . . .”

But Harry, grinning widely, says, “This is the best house I’ve ever been in.” I grin at Ron as well.

“I think that you should change your Quidditch team, but your house is brilliant Ron!” I beam at him. Ron’s ears go pink at our comments.


	3. At Flourish and Blotts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

3-At Flourish and Blotts

 

Life was pretty darn great staying at the Weasleys. The mirror above the mantel shouts insults about your appearance if you’re not prim and proper, there is a ghoul in the attic that howls and drops pipes whenever he feels that the house has gone too quiet, and hearing explosions coming out of Fred and George’s room is normal. All in all, I loved life at this house.

Luka had even managed to bribe Percy into letting him hole up in his room with him, so they could get some studying done. I still can’t believe that he’d rather be cooped up with a book then out playing and enjoying our last days of freedom until we go back to school.

All he would respond with was that I got into enough trouble already for the two of us, with the car stunt that I had pulled. I stopped bothering at that point. I did get a letter from Kingsley one morning. I was scared to open it at first. I really did hate disappointing Kingsley.

When I had finally gotten up the courage to look inside I was pleasantly surprised. Of course there was the who lecture about being safe and responsible, and how I was neither of those when I went hijacking a flying car, but he was also proud of me. It felt good that Kingsley seemed to understand just how much helping my friend meant to me.

Whenever Mr. Weasley could get his hands on Harry, he would ask him countless questions about things in the muggle world like how plugs worked. Whenever Harry would answer Mr. Weasley would find it thrilling. It’s been about a week since we’ve freed Harry from his prison of a bedroom, and everything couldn’t be going better.

Currently we’re all crammed around the kitchen table trying to get breakfast. Ginny and Mrs. Weasley were the only ones up, so it was just them and the four of us. Luka had come down with us as well. I have been pretty much inseparable from Harry and Ron’s side. I’ve missed them so much. I can’t wait to see Hermione again.

The moment she saw Harry, Ginny accidentally knocked her porridge bowl to the floor with a loud clatter. Ginny seemed very prone to knocking things over whenever Harry entered a room. She dived under the table to retrieve the bowl and emerged with her face glowing like the setting sun. Pretending he hadn’t noticed this, Harry sat down and took the toast Mrs. Weasley offered him.

I thought that that was rather big of him. I was going to have to try and help Ginny out with this crush of hers. She needs to learn how to act somewhat functional whenever she’s around a boy. Once we had all gotten a little food in our stomachs Mrs. Weasley came around with letters for us.

“Letters from school. I daresay Dumbledore is still as keen as ever. He managed to send Jamie and Luka’s letter along with Harry’s. That man never misses a thing.” She comments, handing me my envelope. I look at the emerald ink on the letter, and feel a massive grin slip onto my face. Ginny has hers as well and looks excited.

Mrs. Weasley hands Fred and George their letters as well when they amble in the kitchen. I open mine, and pull the letter out. It pretty much told me the same as last year, that I could catch the train from King’s Cross Station on platform 9 ¾ on September 1. The only thing that was different was a new list of books that I would need for this year.

My heart sank into my stomach when I looked at the list though. I had honestly hoped that Ariana was lying about this.

 

SECOND-YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE:

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk

Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart

Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart

Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart

Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart

Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart

Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart

Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart

 

Fred, who had finished his own list, peered over at mine.

“You’ve been told to get all Lockhart’s books, too!” he says. “The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher must be a fan — bet it’s a witch.”

At this point, Fred caught his mother’s eye and quickly busied himself with the marmalade. “That lot won’t come cheap,” says George, with a quick look at his parents. “Lockhart’s books are really expensive. . . .”

I catch my brother’s eye from across the table. The morose look on his face says all that I need to know. I wasn’t looking forward to this just as much as he was.  

“Well, we’ll manage,” says Mrs. Weasley, but she looked worried. “I expect we’ll be able to pick up a lot of Ginny’s things secondhand.”

“Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this year?” Harry asks Ginny.

She nods, blushing to the roots of her flaming hair, and put her elbow in the butter dish. Fortunately no one saw this except Harry and I, because just then Ron’s elder brother Percy walked in. He was already dressed, his Hogwarts prefect badge pinned to his sweater vest.

“Morning, all,” says Percy briskly. “Lovely day.”

He sat down in the only remaining chair but leapt up again almost immediately, pulling from underneath him a molting, gray feather duster — at least, that was what I thought it was, until I saw that it was breathing.

“Errol!” cries Ron, taking the limp owl from Percy and extracting a letter from under its wing. “Finally — he’s got Hermione’s answer. I wrote to her saying we were going to try and rescue you from the Dursleys.”

He carries Errol to a perch just inside the back door and tried to stand him on it, but Errol flopped straight off again so Ron laid him on the draining board instead, muttering, “Pathetic.” Then he rips open Hermione’s letter and reads it out loud:

“‘Dear Ron, Jamie and Harry if you’re there,

“‘I hope everything went all right and that Harry is okay and that you didn’t do anything illegal to get him out, Ron, because that would get Harry into trouble, too. I’ve been really worried and if Harry is all right, will you please let me know at once, but perhaps it would be better if you used a different owl, because I think another delivery might finish your one off. And Jamie I still can’t believe that you went along with this!

“‘I’m very busy with schoolwork, of course’ — How can she be?” says Ron in horror. “We’re on vacation! — ‘and we’re going to London next Wednesday to buy my new books. Why don’t we meet in Diagon Alley?

“‘Let me know what’s happening as soon as you can. Love from Hermione.’”

“Well, that fits in nicely, we can go and get all your things then, too,” says Mrs. Weasley, starting to clear the table. “What’re you all up to today?”

Luka mumbled something about needing to write a letter to Ariana. I scoff and roll my eyes at that statement, and he blushes all the way up to his ears, scurrying off to go find parchment and a quill.

The boys and I were planning to go up the hill to a small paddock the Weasleys owned. It is surrounded by trees that blocked it from view of the village below, meaning that we could practice Quidditch there, as long as we didn’t fly too high. We couldn’t use real Quidditch balls, which would have been hard to explain if they had escaped and flown away over the village; instead we threw apples for one another to catch. We took turns riding Harry’s and my Nimbus Two Thousand, which was easily the best broom; Ron’s old Shooting Star was often outstripped by passing butterflies.

Five minutes later we were marching up the hill, broomsticks over our shoulders. We had asked Percy if he wanted to join us, but he had said he was busy. I had only seen Percy at mealtimes so far; he stayed shut in his room the rest of the time.

“Wish I knew what he was up to,” says Fred, frowning. “He’s not himself. His exam results came the day before you did; twelve O.W.L.s and he hardly gloated at all.”

“Ordinary Wizarding Levels,” George explains, seeing Harry’s puzzled look. “Bill got twelve, too. If we’re not careful, we’ll have another Head Boy in the family. I don’t think I could stand the shame.”

Bill was the oldest Weasley brother. He and the next brother, Charlie, had already left Hogwarts. Harry and I had never met either of them, but we knew that Charlie was in Romania studying dragons and Bill in Egypt working for the wizards’ bank, Gringotts.

“Dunno how Mum and Dad are going to afford all our school stuff this year,” says George after a while. “Five sets of Lockhart books! And Ginny needs robes and a wand and everything. . . .”

I felt bad. My family isn’t the richest, we do all right, but then again we only have Luka and I to buy supplies for. Harry I can tell feels guilty. His parents left him behind a lot of money. Our parents left my brother and I a fair amount but we can’t touch it until we’re of age.

As soon as we get to the field though, all of our worries float away as soon as we mount our brooms. 

* * *

 

Mrs. Weasley woke us all early the following Wednesday. After a quick half a dozen bacon sandwiches each, we pulled on our coats and Mrs. Weasley took a flowerpot off the kitchen mantelpiece and peered inside.

“We’re running low, Arthur,” she sighs. “We’ll have to buy some more today. . . . Ah well, guests first! After you, Harry dear!” And she offered him the flowerpot.

Harry stared at us all watching him.

“W-what am I supposed to do?” he stammers. I slap my hand to my face. Of course Harry wouldn’t understand how to travel by floo powder.

“He’s never traveled by Floo powder,” says Ron suddenly. “Sorry, Harry, I forgot.”

“Never?” says Mr. Weasley. “But how did you get to Diagon Alley to buy your school things last year?”

“I went on the Underground —”

“Really?” cries Mr. Weasley eagerly. “Were there escapators? How exactly —”

“Not now, Arthur,” snaps Mrs. Weasley. “Floo powder’s a lot quicker, dear, but goodness me, if you’ve never used it before —”

“He’ll be all right, Mum,” Fred assures her. “Harry, watch us first.” He takes a pinch of glittering powder out of the flowerpot, steps up to the fire, and throws the powder into the flames. With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred, who steps right into it, shouts, “Diagon Alley!” and vanishes.

Harry looks uneasily at the fire and I heave a sigh. “Its really quite simple Harry. I’ll go next. I don’t want to be behind Luka when he goes next. Kingsley once stepped into his sick.” I say shuddering at the bad image. I grab a pinch o the floo powder, and throw it into the flames. They turn green again and taller than me.

I step into it calmly, and shoot a grin at my worried best friend. “Diagon Alley!” I call. With a twist and a turn, my world is yanked away from me, and the dizzying experience of travel by floo powder starts again.

* * *

 

When I tumble out of the fireplace, a pair of hands helps me to my feet. The grinning face of Fred greets me. “All right Jamie?” Fred asks. I nod my head and grin right back at him. “I thought that Harry was supposed to come through next.” He tells me.

“Well Harry was still nervous. He’s never traveled by floo powder before you know.” I say dusting myself off before stepping outside of the shop, and onto the bustling street that is Diagon Alley. I grin at the sight of it. I loved this alley with a passion. Fred steps next to me, and now George is on his other side.

“So fellow troublemaker, are you up for causing some mayhem?” George asks with a glint in his eye. Before I can respond though Mrs. Weasley is bustling out of the shop behind us, trying to clean the dust off of Ginny’s face, Ron on her other side. Mr. Weasley is right behind them, with a morose Percy bringing up the end of the party.

“You will be doing no such this! I swear I can’t leave my children unattended for a moment before they go off… where is Harry?” She asks. I give her an odd look.

“He isn’t here Mrs. Weasley. The first person to come through after me was George.” I say. I walk over to my brother who is bent over double with a sick look on his face. I pat his back softly.

“Never again…” He wheezes, trying to keep his composure.

“Well he went right after George and before Ron. Oh dear, he’s lost! I knew he didn’t say the name of the street correctly!” She screeches, beginning to search left and right madly for a sight of the skinny boy with the perpetually broken glasses. Mr. Weasley grabs his wife by her arms.

“Calm down Molly. Harry couldn’t have gone far, we’ll split up and search for him.” He tells her. Mrs. Weasley begins to calm down and nods her head in agreement slowly.

“A search party? Have you lost somebody?” A familiar voice calls out. I spin around, and a grin nearly splits my face in half.

“Mione!” I cry, running over to the girl, and launching myself into her arms. She’s laughing at my exuberance, but I almost knock the two of us over. She hugs me back.

“It’s good to see you too Jamie. I’ve missed you.” She tells me giving me one last squeeze before letting me go. I can’t help but smile wider at that statement. Who would have thought that I little under a year ago Hermione thought that I was a no good troublemaker? I hear laughter from beside me, and see Ariana Dumbledore standing there.

I roll my eyes at her, and that makes her only start laughing all the harder. Hermione and Ron are performing some weird sort of handshake ritual, and both of them are blushing like mad. I groan, and roll my eyes at the two of them. The rest of the Weasleys are greeting Hermione’s parents, who are standing to the side looking rather uncomfortable.

Luka comes up to Ariana, and he still looks a tad green. “Did you get my owls?” He asks her. Ariana turns to face him, and a worried look crosses her face.

“Luka you look dreadful what happened?” She cries, looking my brother over while biting her lower lip. He blushes a nice shade of scarlet, and I have to fight the feeling to bang my head against the nearest wall. What is it with all my friends now a day? Mrs. Weasley easily commandeers the attention of the whole group again though.

She splits us off into two groups going in different directions down Diagon Alley.

* * *

 

“There he is! Harry! Harry over here!” Hermione cries jumping up and down next o me. We’re standing on the top most step leading up to Gringotts Bank. I’m relieved to see Harry standing next to Hagrid. Hermione and I race down the steps. I watch as she tackles him in a big giant hug.

“Hermione… can’t… breathe.” Harry sputters out. With a start she lets him go. I shake my head at my best friends fondly.

“Harry where did you go?” I demand taking in the state of his clothes. The fireplace that he came out of must not have been cleaned in the last century or so. Hermione is more worried about the state of his glasses.

“I’ll tell you guys as soon as I find the Weasleys.” Harry tells us, batting away Hermione’s hand.

“Yeh won’t have long ter wait,” Hagrid said with a grin. Harry, Hermione, and I look around: Sprinting up the crowded street are Ron, Fred, George, Percy, and Mr. Weasley.

“Harry,” Mr. Weasley pants. “We hoped you’d only gone one grate too far. . . .” He mops his glistening bald patch. “Molly’s frantic — she’s coming now —”

“Where did you come out?” Ron asks.

“Knockturn Alley,” says Hagrid grimly.

“Excellent!” crow Fred and George together.

“We’ve never been allowed in,” says Ron enviously.

“I should ruddy well think not,” Hagrid growls to us. Mrs. Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swinging wildly in one hand, Ginny just clinging onto the other.

“Oh, Harry — oh, my dear — you could have been anywhere —” She cries.

Gasping for breath, she pulls a large clothes brush out of her bag and began sweeping off the soot Hagrid hadn’t managed to beat away. Mr. Weasley took Harry’s glasses, gave them a tap of his wand, and returned them, good as new.

“Well, gotta be off,” says Hagrid, who was having his hand wrung by Mrs. Weasley (“Knockturn Alley! If you hadn’t found him, Hagrid!”). “See yer at Hogwarts!” And he strode away, head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the packed street.

As soon as Hagrid had disappeared around a bend Harry grabbed Hermione, Ron, and my attention, pulling us over to the edge of the group. I had just been listening to Mr. Weasley as he explained to me that Luka went off with Ariana Dumbledore for a little bit and would meet up with us in Flourish and Blotts later.

“Guess who I saw in Borgin and Burkes?” Harry asks us as we climb the Gringotts steps. “Malfoy and his father.”

“Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?” says Mr. Weasley sharply behind them.

“No, he was selling —” Harry starts.

“So he’s worried,” says Mr. Weasley with grim satisfaction. “Oh, I’d love to get Lucius Malfoy for something. . . .”

“You be careful, Arthur,” warns Mrs. Weasley sharply as they were bowed into the bank by a goblin at the door. “That family’s trouble. Don’t go biting off more than you can chew —”

“So you don’t think I’m a match for Lucius Malfoy?” says Mr. Weasley indignantly.

As the two adults continue to bicker, we come to a stop at the white countertop. “Meet you back here,” Ron says to Hermione as the Weasleys, Harry, and I were led off to their underground vaults by another Gringotts goblin. I kind of felt bad that people were going to get to see my vault. I knew exactly how much to get for my brother as well, so there wasn’t a problem there.

The vaults were reached by means of small, goblin-driven carts that sped along miniature train tracks through the bank’s underground tunnels. I enjoyed the breakneck journey down to the Weasleys’ vault, but felt dreadful, far worse than I had before, when it was opened. There was a very small pile of silver Sickles inside, and just one gold Galleon. Mrs. Weasley felt right into the corners before sweeping the whole lot into her bag.

How was I going to feel when we got to my vault? Next up was Harry’s vault. When the goblin opened that one for him. I watched as he quickly shuffled a few galleons away, and tried to close it quickly. I couldn’t believe the mounds of gold galleons that he has in there.

I don’t think that even my vault has that much in it. Harry couldn’t meet the Weasleys faces after he had gotten back into the cart. I pat his hand softly, knowing that we’re now going to come to mine. We had a further ride to get to it. My family is one of the original founders of the bank, so we have one of the greatest, and deepest vaults.

Finally we come to a stop in front of an ornate vault door with a detailed dragon carved into the front. I hop out of the cart quickly, and press my hand against the stone, while the goblin opens the door. The dragon flashes red, and slowly the vault starts to rumble open. I could hear the shocked gasps from behind me.

Once the door finally comes to a stop, I can hear the excited whispers from directly behind me. Arthur’s armor stands proudly in the center next to his royal throne. A crown fit for the mightiest of kings is atop the pillow on its seat. Piles of jewelry and works of art are everywhere. Not to mention the a little more than modest pile of gold and silver off to the left side of the room.

I quickly scoop galleons and sickles into my pouch, and turn to leave again. I have to place my hand by the vault door again, so that the goblin can close it. Once the door rumbles shut with a final click, the dragon flares red once again. I don’t meet anyone’s gaze as I climb back into the cart alongside Harry.

No one speaks for a good few minutes. “You all knew that I was related to Arthur.” I say softly.

* * *

 

Back outside on the marble steps, we all separated. Percy muttered vaguely about needing a new quill. Fred and George had spotted their friend from Hogwarts, Lee Jordan. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were going to a secondhand robe shop. Mr. Weasley was insisting on taking the Grangers off to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink.

“We’ll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy your schoolbooks,” says Mrs. Weasley, setting off with Ginny. “And not one step down Knockturn Alley!” she shouted at the twins’ retreating backs.”

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I set off down Diagon Alley content to see which shops we wanted to stop into and get stuff from. Harry bought us large strawberry and peanut butter ice creams that we merrily slurped down. Ron gazed longingly at a full set of Chudley Cannon robes in the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies until Hermione dragged us off to buy ink and parchment next door.

In Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, we met Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, who were stocking up on Dr. Filibuster’s Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks, and in a tiny junk shop full of broken wands, lopsided brass scales, and old cloaks covered in potion stains we found Percy, deeply immersed in a small and deeply boring book called Prefects Who Gained Power.

“A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers,” Ron reads aloud off the back cover. “That sounds fascinating. . . .”

“Go away,” Percy snaps at us.

“’Course, he’s very ambitious, Percy, he’s got it all planned out. . . . He wants to be Minister of Magic . . .” Ron tells us in an undertone as we left Percy to it. I’m fully expecting to find my brother and Ariana three books deep in Flourish in Blotts since we have yet to run into them on our excursion so far.

An hour later, we headed for Flourish and Blotts. We were by no means the only ones making our way to the bookshop. As we approach it, we saw to our surprise a large crowd jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was proclaimed by a large banner stretched across the upper windows:

 

GILDEROY LOCKHART

will be signing copies of his autobiography

MAGICAL ME

today 12:30 P.M. to 4:30 P.M.

“We can actually meet him!” Hermione squeals. “I mean, he’s written almost the whole booklist!” I look on in horror at my best friend.

“No not you too Hermione!” I cry anguished. She pays me no mind though, and pushes her way into the store. We’re left no choice but to follow her.

The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs. Weasley’s age. A harassed-looking wizard stood at the door, saying, “Calmly, please, ladies. . . . Don’t push, there . . . mind the books, now. . . .” A long line wound right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing his books. We each grabbed a copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 and snuck up the line to where the rest of the Weasleys were standing with Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

“Oh, there you are, good,” says Mrs. Weasley. She sounded breathless and kept patting her hair. I noticed Luka and Ariana squeezed on the other side of her as well clutching their own copies of the Standard Book of Spells Grade 2. They looked to be having about as much fun as I was.

“We’ll be able to see him in a minute. . . .” Mrs. Weasley says excitedly.

Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard’s hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.

A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash.

“Out of the way, there,” he snarls at Ron, moving back to get a better shot. “This is for the Daily Prophet —”

“Big deal,” says Ron, rubbing his foot where the photographer had stepped on it.

Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looks up. He sees Ron — and then he sees Harry. Then he sees me standing next to Harry. He stared. Then he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, “It can’t be Harry Potter, and Jamie Pendragon as well? Where is Luka?” He cries.

The crowd parts, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dives forward, seizes Harry’s arm, and mine and pulls us to the front. I grab Luka before we get too far. If I’m going to go down, then he is going to go with me. The crowd bursts into applause. The photographer is going mad with pictures seeing all of us standing up front with Lockhart.

“Nice big smile guys,” says Lockhart, through his own gleaming teeth. “Together, we are worth the front page.” I grimace as the flash goes off again from the camera. Harry tries to escape after the picture, but Luka and I know by now that there’s no escaping the press until they’re done with you, and Lockhart loves the press.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says loudly, waving for quiet. “What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I’ve been sitting on for some time!

“When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today with his friends, he only wanted to buy my autobiography — which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge —” The crowd applauds again. “He had no idea,” Lockhart continues, giving Harry a little shake that made his glasses slip to the end of his nose, “that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher ”

The roar of applause from the women in the crowd drowns my groan out. Oh how I hate this man. Harry staggers a little under the weight of the books that he’s just been given. We make our way back to the Weasley’s where Harry dumps them all into the caldron at her feet.

“You can have these.” He tells her. “I’ll buy my own.” I’m busy rolling my neck trying to relieve the tension that has gotten there from the unexpected limelight. Sometimes I seriously hate being a Pendragon.

“Bet you loved that, didn’t you, Potter?” says a voice I had no trouble recognizing. Harry straightens up and finds himself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, who was wearing his usual sneer.

“Famous Harry Potter,” says Malfoy. “Can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page.”

“Leave him alone, he didn’t want all that!” says Ginny. It was the first time she had spoken in front of Harry. She was glaring at Malfoy.

“Potter, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend!” drawls Malfoy. Ginny goes scarlet as Ron and Hermione fight their way over, both clutching stacks of Lockhart’s books.

“Oh, it’s you,” says Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. “Bet you’re surprised to see Harry here, eh?”

“Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley,” retorts Malfoy. “I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those.” I grip my hands into fists hearing him say that to my friend.

“You’re just jealous since you weren’t the one up there getting your picture taken Malfoy.” I sneer back at him. Malfoy turns his attention on me.

“Ah Jamie Pendragon, I didn’t know that this establishment was serving to those of traitor blood. I must inform my father of this right away. Wouldn’t want to catch any diseases from you or worse… mudbloods.” Malfoy says. Before I can do anything in retort, Ron takes a step forward angrily dropping his books into Ginny’s caldron as well.

“Ron!” says Mr. Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. “What are you doing? It’s too crowded in here, let’s go outside.”

“Well, well, well — Arthur Weasley.” It was Mr. Malfoy. He stands with his hand on Draco’s shoulder, sneering in just the same way.

“Lucius,” says Mr. Weasley, nodding coldly.

“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,” comments Mr. Malfoy. “All those raids . . . I hope they’re paying you overtime?” He reaches into Ginny’s cauldron and extracts, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration.

“Obviously not,” Mr. Malfoy says. “Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?”

Mr. Weasley flushes darker than either Ron or Ginny. “We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy,” he says.

“Clearly,” states Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. “The company you keep, Weasley . . . and I thought your family could sink no lower —”

There was a thud of metal as Ginny’s cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, “Get him, Dad!” from Fred or George; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, “No, Arthur, no!”; “the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; “Gentlemen, please — please!” cries the assistant, and then, louder than all —

“Break it up, there, gents, break it up —” Hagrid was wading toward them through the sea of books. In an instant he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an Encyclopedia of Toadstools. He was still holding Ginny’s old Transfiguration book. He thrusts it at her, his eyes glittering with malice.

“Here, girl — take your book — it’s the best your father can give you —” Pulling himself out of Hagrid’s grip he beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop.

“Yeh should’ve ignored him, Arthur,” says Hagrid, almost lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he straightened his robes. “Rotten ter the core, the ”

the whole family, everyone knows that — no Malfoy’s worth listenin’ ter — bad blood, that’s what it is — come on now — let’s get outta here.”

The assistant looks as though he wanted to stop them leaving, but he barely came up to Hagrid’s waist and seemed to think better of it. They hurried up the street, the Grangers shaking with fright and Mrs. Weasley beside herself with fury.

“A fine example to set for your children . . . brawling in public . . . what Gilderoy Lockhart must’ve thought —”

“He was pleased,” says Fred. “Didn’t you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that bloke from the Daily Prophet if he’d be able to work the fight into his report — said it was all publicity —”

We were definitely a subdued group as we made our way back to the Leaky Caldron in which we had flooed from. I said goodbye to Hermione giving her a hug, and a nod at Ariana whose eyes were still wide with disbelief. Mr. Weasley looked like he wanted to ask the Grangers a question about muggle transportation but one look from Mrs. Weasley was enough to discourage him.

With a sigh, I grab my pinch of floo powder, and step into the flames. This was definitely not how I had envisioned spending my day.


	4. The Whomping Willow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

4-The Whomping Willow

 

The end of summer vacation came all too quickly now. I was having the time of my life at the Burrow spending all of my day with Harry, Ron, Fred, and George. I also came to be friends with Ginny. She wasn’t so bad as soon as you got her in a room alone without Harry in a three-mile radius.

Luka even managed to pry himself out of the house and come out with us a few days. It was exactly the kind of summer that I had been dreaming of. On our last evening, Mrs. Weasley conjured up a sumptuous dinner that included all of our favorite things, ending with a mouthwatering treacle pudding.

Fred and George rounded off the evening with a display of Filibuster fireworks; they filled the kitchen with red and blue stars that bounced from ceiling to wall for at least half an hour. Then it was time for a last mug of hot chocolate and bed. When I lay my head down on the pillow that night I was sure that I was never going to be able to go to sleep.

* * *

It took a long while to get started next morning. We were up at dawn, but somehow we still seemed to have a great deal to do. Mrs. Weasley dashed about in a bad mood looking for spare socks and quills; people kept colliding on the stairs, half-dressed with bits of toast in their hands; and Mr. Weasley nearly broke his neck, tripping over a stray chicken as he crossed the yard carrying Ginny’s trunk to the car.

I didn’t understand how we were all going to fit inside of the car. When the boys and I had used it to go rescue Harry there was barely enough room for the four of us and Harry’s stuff. I figured out the secret though, when I saw that Mr. Weasley could fit all of our trunks in the same car. He had used an invisible extension charm on the car.

I wasn’t so worried about using the vehicle now. When at last they were all in the car, Mrs. Weasley glances into the back seat, where Harry, Ron, Fred, George, Luka, Percy, and me were all sitting comfortably side by side, and said, “Muggles do know more than we give them credit for, don’t they?” She and Ginny got into the front seat, which had been stretched so that it resembled a park bench. “I mean, you’d never know it was this roomy from the outside, would you?”

Mr. Weasley started up the engine and we trundled out of the yard, I turned back for a last look at the house. I barely had time to wonder when I’d see it again when we were back — George had forgotten his box of Filibuster fireworks. Five minutes after that, we skidded to a halt in the yard so that Fred could run in for his broomstick. We had almost reached the highway when Ginny shrieked that she’d left her diary. By the time she had clambered back into the car, we were running very late, and tempers were running high.

Mr. Weasley glanced at his watch and then at his wife.

“Molly, dear —”

“No, Arthur —”

“No one would see — this little button here is an Invisibility Booster I installed — that’d get us up in the air — then we fly above the clouds. We’d be there in ten minutes and no one would be any the wiser —”

“I said no, Arthur, not in broad daylight —” We reached King’s Cross at a quarter to eleven. Mr. Weasley dashed across the road to get trolleys for our trunks and we all hurried into the station. I wasn’t looking forward to being this late for the train. Hopefully Hermione had saved us a compartment so that we can sit together. I don’t want to have to share with any Slytherins.

When we finally got to the divider there was quite a crowd. “Percy first,” says Mrs. Weasley, looking nervously at the clock overhead, which showed we had only five minutes to disappear casually through the barrier.

Percy strode briskly forward and vanished. Mr. Weasley went next; Fred and George followed.

“I’ll take Ginny and you four come right after us,” Mrs. Weasley told Harry, Ron, Luka, and me, grabbing Ginny’s hand and setting off. In the blink of an eye they were gone.

“Okay we only got a minute left. Harry and I will go first, then Jamie you and Luka follow.” Ron tells us. From the look on my brother’s face, I could tell that he was beginning to get worried about missing the train. I was nervous as well. The two boys got side by side, and charged the barrier.

CRASH! Both of their carts were upturned, and the two boys were on the ground groaning. I run over to my friends and help them get to they’re feet. Luka is still standing there staring dumbstruck at the barrier that had just turned solid. For the first time in his life, he had actually not done the thing that I was supposed to do.

Harry goes and places his hand flat against the wall and pushes. He’s met with resistance. We are locked out of the platform. “Why can’t we get through?” Harry hisses to Ron.

“I dunno —” Ron looks wildly around. A dozen curious people were still watching them. “We’re going to miss the train,” Ron whispers. “I don’t understand why the gateway’s sealed itself —”

“We have to think of something. I think that my brother will have a heart attack if we don’t make it to school on time!” I cry. Both Harry and Ron flick their gazes to Luka who is still in the same position that he was when I had last left him. The three of us turned and watched as the clock ticked down on our ride to school. Two seconds… one second… gone.

“It’s gone,” says Ron, sounding stunned. “The train’s left. What if Mum and Dad can’t get back through to us? Have you got any Muggle money?”

Harry gave a hollow laugh. “The Dursleys haven’t given me pocket money for about six years.” Ron presses his ear to the cold barrier.

“Can’t hear a thing,” he says tensely. “What’re we going to do? I don’t know how long it’ll take Mum and Dad to get back to us.”We looked around. People were still watching us, mainly because of Hedwig’s continuing screeches.

“I think we’d better go and wait by the car,” I tell them. “We’re attracting too much atten —”

“Jamie!” cries Ron, his eyes gleaming. “The car!”

“What about it?” I ask.

“We can fly the car to Hogwarts!”

“But I thought —”

“We’re stuck, right? And we’ve got to get to school, haven’t we? And even underage wizards are allowed to use magic if it’s a real emergency, section nineteen or something of the Restriction of Thingy —”

“But your mum and dad . . .” breaks in Harry, pushing against the barrier again in the vain hope that it would give way. “How will they get home?”

“They don’t need the car!” states Ron impatiently. “They know how to Apparate! You know, just vanish and reappear at home! They only bother with Floo powder and the car because we’re all underage and we’re not allowed to Apparate yet. . . .”

Our feelings of panic turned suddenly to excitement.

“Can you fly it?” I demand.

“No problem,” Ron says, wheeling his trolley around to face the exit. “C’mon, let’s go. If we hurry we’ll be able to follow the Hogwarts Express —”

We gathered all of our stuff and made our way back through the station. I had to drag Luka along by his arm, for I’m pretty sure that he’s gone into some version of shock. Luka gets like this when he gets really upset. He’ll snap out of it sooner or later.

When we got back to the parking lot where the car was parked Ron unlocked the cavernous trunk with a series of taps from his wand. We heaved all our luggage back in, put Hedwig, Dionysus, and Sophocles on the back seat, and got into the front. I put Luka back there with the animals. There wasn’t enough room for him up front.

“Check that no one’s watching,” Ron orders, starting the ignition with another tap of his wand. Harry stuck his head out of the window: Traffic was rumbling along the main road ahead, but their street was empty.

“Okay,” he says.

Ron presses a tiny silver button on the dashboard. The car around us vanished — and so did we. I could feel the seat vibrating beneath me, hear the engine, feel my hands on my knees, but for all I could see, I had become a pair of eyeballs, floating a few feet above the ground in a dingy street full of parked cars.

“Let’s go,” says Ron’s voice from my right. And the ground and the dirty buildings on either side fell away, dropping out of sight as the car rose; in seconds, the whole of London lay, smoky and glittering, below us.

“This is amazing!” I cry, holding my hands above my head, and letting out a shout of joy. Then there was a popping noise and the car, and we reappeared.

“Uh-oh,” says Ron, jabbing at the Invisibility Booster. “It’s faulty —”

Both Harry and Ron pummel it. The car vanishes. Then it flickered back again.

“Hold on!” Ron yells, and he slams his foot on the accelerator; we shoot straight into the low, woolly clouds and everything turned dull and foggy.

“Now what?” says Harry, blinking at the solid mass of cloud pressing in on them from all sides.

“We need to see the train to know what direction to go in,” I tell them.

“Dip back down again — quickly —” Harry instructs. We drop back beneath the clouds and twist around in our seats, squinting at the ground. “I can see it!” Harry yells. “Right ahead — there!” The Hogwarts Express was streaking along below them like a scarlet snake.

“Due north,” I say, checking the compass on the dashboard. “Okay, we’ll just have to check on it every half hour or so — hold on —”

And we shot up through the clouds. A minute later, we burst out into a blaze of sunlight. It was a different world. The wheels of the car skimmed the sea of fluffy cloud, the sky a bright, endless blue under the blinding white sun.

“All we’ve got to worry about now are airplanes,” says Ron. We look at each other and started laughing; for a long time, we couldn’t stop. That was when my brother finally came around.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?” Luka yells coming out of his shock. The three of us wheel around from the front to look at him. Luka is trying to peer around Di’s cage that’s situated on his lap.

“We’re going to Hogwarts what does it look like we’re doing mate?” Ron says, turning back around to focus on driving.

“Why are we in the car? Jamie what’s going on here? Please don’t tell me that we stole the car, and now we’re flying to Hogwarts!” Luka cries, beginning to hyperventilate. I reach over the seat, and move the cage off of his lap.

“Calm down Luka.” I tell him, trying to get him to relax a little.

“It was the only way we were going to be able to get to school Luka. The portal had closed on us.” Harry explains. That doesn’t seem to help my brother at all though.

“Oh god… I’ll be the first ever Ravenclaw to be expelled from school! Why did this have to happen to me? What will Kingsley think? I can’t be a delinquent now, I’m only twelve!” Luka moans covering his face with his hands.

“And this is why your brother isn’t in Gryffindor.” Ron mutters under his breath. I elbow him in the ribs softly, and return my attention back out the window. There’s no talking to my brother when he’s like this.

“You’ve ruined my life Jamie before I’ve even had a chance to live it yet!” Luka cries. I growl low in my throat and shake my head.

“Thank you captain mellow drama.” I mutter under my breath. We made regular checks on the train as we flew farther and farther north, each dip beneath the clouds showing us a different view. London was soon far behind us, replaced by neat green fields that gave way to turn to wide, purplish moors, a great city alive with cars like multicolored ants, villages with tiny toy churches.

It was all so peaceful up here in the clouds, but it was dull as dishwater as well. I missed Hermione and the twins. Even Ariana would be a great improvement to the dark cloud that has taken form of my brother. Not to mention that it is sweltering in the car. We’ve all stripped off our sweaters but, the sweat was making our tee shirts stick to our backs.

“Can’t be much further, can it?” croaks Ron, hours later still, as the sun started to sink into their floor of cloud, staining it a deep pink. “Ready for another check on the train?”

It was still right below them, winding its way past a snowcapped mountain. It was much darker beneath the canopy of clouds. “How much trouble do you want to bet that we’ll be in when we finally get to Hogwarts?” Luka states from the back emerging from his silent sulking that he had gone into about an hour ago.

There is no food or water in the car, and I’m pretty sure that we’ll all be dead as soon as our parents get ahold of us, or Hermione which ever happens first. Ron put his foot on the accelerator and drove them upward again, but as he did so, the engine began to whine. Harry, Ron, and I exchange nervous glances.

“It’s probably just tired,” says Ron. “It’s never been this far before. . . .” And we pretended not to notice the whining growing louder and louder as the sky became steadily darker. Stars were blossoming in the blackness.

“You idiots forgot to put fuel into the car didn’t you? Merlin, you can’t take Gryffindors anywhere with you. You do first think later. I happen to know that you do have a brain sister dear, even though you choose not to use it.” Luka comments from the back leaning on the seat behind me.

I’m too tired to even retort back at him. Besides I have to conserve my energy so that I can pound him when we land. “Not far,” says Ron, more to the car than to us, “not far now,” and he pats the dashboard nervously.

When we flew back beneath the clouds a little while later, we had to squint through the darkness for a landmark that we knew.

“There!” Harry shouts, making the rest of us jump. “Straight ahead!”

Silhouetted on the dark horizon, high on the cliff over the lake, stood the many turrets and towers of Hogwarts castle. But the car had begun to shudder and was losing speed.

“Come on,” Ron says cajolingly, giving the steering wheel a little shake, “nearly there, come on —”

“Jamie have I mentioned that I hate your friends?” Luka asks me not being helpful about the situation in the least.

“Shut up Luka!” I shout. The engine groans. Narrow jets of steam were issuing from under the hood. I find myself gripping the edges of my seat very hard as we flew toward the lake.

The car gave a nasty wobble. Glancing out of Harry’s window, we see the smooth, black, glassy surface of the water, a mile below. Ron’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel. The car wobbled again.

“Come on,” Ron mutters. We are over the lake — the castle was right ahead — Ron puts his foot down. There’s a loud clunk, a splutter, and the engine dies completely. “Uh-oh,” says Ron, into the silence.

The nose of the car drops. We are falling, gathering speed, heading straight for the solid castle wall.

“Noooooo!” Ron yells, swinging the steering wheel around; we missed the dark stone wall by inches as the car turned in a great arc, soaring over the dark greenhouses, then the vegetable patch, and then out over the black lawns, losing altitude all the time.

Ron lets go of the steering wheel completely and pulls his wand out of his back pocket —

“STOP! STOP!” he yells, whacking the dashboard and the windshield, but they were still plummeting, the ground flying up toward them —

“You IDIOT THAT WON’T WORK!” Luka shouts.

“WATCH OUT FOR THAT TREE!” Harry bellows, lunging for the steering wheel, but too late —

CRUNCH. With an earsplitting bang of metal on wood, we hit the thick tree trunk and drop to the ground with a heavy jolt. Steam is billowing out of the hood of the car. I think that I may have broken my spleen, or better yet, probably my arm. My right arm, is throbbing with my heartbeat that is racing.

Luka lurches out of the car making it a few paces away before he drops to his knees and throws up his breakfast. I try to blink the tears out of my eyes giving a small whimper, while Ron groans.

“Are you okay?” Harry demands of us. I nod my head not trusting myself not to cry if I open my mouth just yet.

“My wand,” says Ron, in a shaky voice. “Look at my wand —” It had snapped, almost in two; the tip was dangling limply, held on by a few splinters. Harry opens his mouth to respond but he never got the chance to say anything.

At that very moment, something hit his side of the car with the force of a charging bull, sending me lurching sideways into Ron, just as an equally heavy blow hit the roof.

“What’s happen — ?” I start finally managing to speak. This doesn’t help my arm any though.

Ron gasps, staring through the windshield, and Harry and I look around just in time to see a branch as thick as a python smash into it. The tree we had hit was attacking us. Its trunk is bent almost double, and its gnarled boughs are pummeling every inch of the car it could reach. Luka is scrambling away from the car in fear.

“Aaargh!” Ron shouts as another twisted limb punched a large dent into his door; the windshield is now trembling under a hail of blows from knuckle-like twigs and a branch as thick as a battering ram was pounding furiously on the roof, which seemed to be caving —

“Run for it!” Ron shouts, throwing his full weight against his door, but next second he is knocked backward into my lap by a vicious uppercut from another branch.

“We’re done for!” I moan as the ceiling sags, but suddenly the floor of the car was vibrating — the engine had restarted.

“Reverse!” Harry yells, and the car shoots backward; the tree was still trying to hit us; we could hear its roots creaking as it almost ripped itself up, lashing out at us as we speed out of reach.

“That,” pants Ron, “was close. Well done, car —” The car, however, had reached the end of its tether. With two sharp clunks, the doors flew open and I felt my seat tip sideways: Next thing I knew I was sprawled on top of Harry on the damp ground.    

Loud thuds told him that the car was ejecting their luggage from the trunk; the animals cages flew through the air and burst open; Hedwig and Di rose out of them with an angry screeches and speed off toward the castle without a backward look. Poor Sophocles meows unhappily from his cage. Then, dented, scratched, and steaming, the car rumbles off into the darkness, its rear lights blazing angrily.

“Come back!” Ron yells after it, brandishing his broken wand. “Dad’ll kill me!”

But the car disappeared from view with one last snort from its exhaust.

“Can you believe our luck?” says Ron miserably, bending down to pick up Scabbers. “Of all the trees we could’ve hit, we had to get one that hits back.”

Luka comes running up to us, and takes me in his arms. He finds my broken arm, and I hiss, tears leaking out of my eyes from the pain. “Look what you’ve done! You’ve kidnapped me, stolen a vehicle, lost the vehicle, and on top of all that you nearly got my baby sister killed!” Luka screams at the other boys. Harry and Ron turn their attention to me, and I see the guilty looks flash across their faces.

“We just wanted to get to school.” Harry says softly. Luka snorts, and shakes his head.

“Well we’re here I might as well not miss the opening feast.” With that he starts stomping back towards the castle.

“Come on,” says Harry wearily, “we’d better get up to the school. . . .” It wasn’t at all the triumphant arrival the boys had pictured. Stiff, cold, and bruised, we seized the ends of our trunks (Harry had to get mine as well) and began dragging them up the grassy slope, toward the great oak front doors.

“I think the feast’s already started,” says Ron, dropping his trunk at the foot of the front steps and crossing quietly to look through a brightly lit window. “Hey — Harry, Jamie— come and look — it’s the Sorting!” We hurried over and, together, we peer in at the Great Hall.

I don’t see Luka anywhere and that’s odd. He should have been back at the castle by now. I wonder where he went off to? Innumerable candles are hovering in midair over four long, crowded tables, making the golden plates and goblets sparkle. Overhead, the bewitched ceiling, which always mirrored the sky outside, sparkled with stars.

Through the forest of pointed black Hogwarts hats, I could see a long line of scared-looking first years filing into the Hall. Ginny was among them, easily visible because of her vivid Weasley hair. Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall, a bespectacled witch with her hair in a tight bun, was placing the famous Hogwarts Sorting Hat on a stool before the newcomers.

I tuned out the beginning of the sorting ceremony while my friends watched on in awe. I was more worried about the odd angle in which my arm was bent, and the fact that I could no longer feel it anymore that’s what is troubling me now. “Hang on . . .” Harry mutters to us. “There’s an empty chair at the staff table. . . . Where’s Snape?”

Professor Severus Snape was Harry’s least favorite teacher. Harry also happened to be Snape’s least favorite student. Cruel, sarcastic, and disliked by everybody except the students from his own House (Slytherin), Snape taught Potions.

“Maybe he’s ill!” says Ron hopefully.

“Maybe he’s left,” shoots back Harry, “because he missed out on the Defense Against the Dark Arts job again!”

“Or he might have been sacked!” cries Ron enthusiastically. “I mean, everyone hates him —”

“Or maybe,” says a very cold voice right behind them, “he’s waiting to hear why you four didn’t arrive on the school train.” I spin around. There, his black robes rippling in a cold breeze, stood Severus Snape. He was a thin man with sallow skin, a hooked nose, and greasy, shoulder-length black hair, and at this moment, he was smiling in a way that told me that we were in very deep trouble.

“Follow me,” says Snape. Not daring even to look at each other, the three of us follow Snape up the steps into the vast, echoing entrance hall, which was lit with flaming torches. A delicious smell of food was wafting from the Great Hall, but Snape led them away from the warmth and light, down a narrow stone staircase that led into the dungeons.

“In!” he snaps, opening a door halfway down the cold passageway and pointing.

We entered Snape’s office, shivering. The shadowy walls are lined with shelves of large glass jars, in which floated all manner of revolting things I didn’t really want to know the name of at the moment. The fireplace was dark and empty. Snape closed the door and turned to look at them.

“So,” he says softly, “the train isn’t good enough for the famous Harry Potter and his faithful sidekicks Weasley and Pendragon. Wanted to arrive with a bang, did we, guys?”

“No, sir, it was the barrier at King’s Cross, it —” I attempt.

“Silence!” says Snape coldly. “What have you done with the car?” Ron gulps. This wasn’t the first time Snape had given me the impression of being able to read minds. But a moment later, I understood, as Snape unrolled today’s issue of the Evening Prophet.

“You were seen,” he hisses, showing them the headline: FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES. He begins to read aloud: “Two Muggles in London, convinced they saw an old car flying over the Post Office tower . . . at noon in Norfolk, Mrs. Hetty Bayliss, while hanging out her washing . . . Mr. Angus Fleet, of Peebles, reported to police . . . Six or seven Muggles in all. I believe your father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office?” he says, looking up at Ron and smiling still more nastily. “Dear, dear . . . his own son . . .”

I feel as though I’ve just been walloped in the stomach by one of the mad tree’s larger branches. If anyone found out Mr. Weasley had bewitched the car . . . we hadn’t thought of that. . . .

“I noticed, in my search of the park, that considerable damage seems to have been done to a very valuable Whomping Willow,” Snape goes on.

“That tree did more damage to us than we —” Ron blurts out.

“Silence!” snaps Snape again. “Most unfortunately, you are not in my House and the decision to expel you does not rest with me. I shall go and fetch the people who do have that happy power. You will wait here.” For the first time I notice that Luka is sitting on a chair in the corner of the room. He looks crushed. I go over to him, and put my good hand on his shoulder.

“It’ll be okay Luka. I’m sure that Kingsley won’t be too mad.” I say softly. Luka slowly turns his gaze up and gives me the evilest look that I’ve ever seen. I actually stagger back from the force of it.

“I don’t want anything to do with you Jamie.” He tells me coldly. Pain shoots through me and I wince at his words. It had always just been Luka and me. Now… I guess that its just me for a while… or forever. I make my way slowly back to Harry and Ron. They look just about as bad as I feel.

Ten minutes later, Snape returned, and sure enough it was Professor McGonagall who accompanied him. Professor Flitwick was behind her. We had seen Professor McGonagall angry on several occasions, but either we had forgotten just how thin her mouth could go, or we had never seen her this angry before. She raised her wand the moment she entered; Harry and Ron both flinched, but she merely pointed it at the empty fireplace, where flames suddenly erupted.

“Sit,” she says, and we back into chairs by the fire.

“Explain,” she commands, her glasses glinting ominously. Ron launches into the story, starting with the barrier at the station refusing to let them through.

“— so we had no choice, Professor, we couldn’t get on the train.”

“Why didn’t you send us a letter by owl? I believe you have an owl?” Professor McGonagall said coldly to all of us. Harry gaped at her. Now she said it, that seemed the obvious thing to have done.

“I — I didn’t think —” Harry mutters

“That,” said Professor McGonagall, “is obvious.” There is a knock on the office door and Snape, now looking happier than ever, opened it. There stands the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore. My whole body goes number then my arm. Dumbledore is looking unusually grave. He stares down his very crooked nose at us, and I suddenly found myself wishing I am still being beaten up by the Whomping Willow.

There was a long silence. Then Dumbledore says, “Please explain why you did this.”

It would have been better if he had shouted. I hated the disappointment in his voice. For some reason, I was unable to look Dumbledore in the eyes, and spoke instead to his knees. I told Dumbledore everything except that Mr. Weasley owned the bewitched car, making it sound as though we had happened to find a flying car parked outside the station. I knew Dumbledore would see through this at once, but Dumbledore asked no questions about the car. When I had finished, he merely continued to peer at us through his spectacles.

“We’ll go and get our stuff,” says Ron in a hopeless sort of voice.

“What are you talking about, Weasley?” barks Professor McGonagall.

“Well, you’re expelling us, aren’t you?” I say tearfully. Harry looks quickly at Dumbledore.

“Not today, Ms. Pendragon,” says Dumbledore. “But I must impress upon all of you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing to all your families tonight. I must also warn you that if you do anything like this again, I will have no choice but to expel you.”

Snape looks as though Christmas has been canceled. He clears his throat and says, “Professor Dumbledore, these kids have flouted the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, caused serious damage to an old and valuable tree — surely acts of this nature —”

“It will be for Professor McGonagall to decide on these kids’ punishments, Severus,” says Dumbledore calmly. “They are in her House and are therefore her responsibility.” He turned to Professor McGonagall. “I must go back to the feast, Minerva, I’ve got to give out a few notices. Come, Severus, there’s a delicious-looking custard tart I want to sample —”

Snape shoots a look of pure venom at all four of us as he allows himself to be swept out of his office, leaving them alone with Professor McGonagall, who was still eyeing them like a wrathful eagle. Professor Flitwick has taken my brother away.

“You’d better get along to the hospital wing, Weasley, you’re bleeding. And Pendragon, I’m sorry to say but I’m fairly certain that your arm is broken.”  

“Not much,” says Ron, hastily wiping the cut over his eye with his sleeve.   “Professor, I wanted to watch my sister being Sorted —”

“The Sorting Ceremony is over,” says Professor McGonagall. “Your sister is also in Gryffindor.”

“Oh, good,” Ron sighs.

“And speaking of Gryffindor —” Professor McGonagall says sharply, but Harry cut in: “Professor, when we took the car, term hadn’t started, so — so Gryffindor shouldn’t really have points taken from it — should it?” he finishes, watching her anxiously.

Professor McGonagall gives him a piercing look, but I am sure she had almost smiled. Her mouth looked less thin, anyway.

“I will not take any points from Gryffindor,” she said, and my heart lightened considerably. “But you will all be getting a detention.” A detention I could live in. I’m used to that happening by now.

Professor McGonagall raises her wand again and points it at Snape’s desk. A large plate of sandwiches, three silver goblets, and a jug of iced pumpkin juice appears with a pop.

“You will eat in here and then go straight up to your dormitory,” she says. “I must also return to the feast. Jamie you will report to the infirmary though.” When the door had closed behind her, Ron let out a long, low whistle.

“I thought we’d had it,” he says, grabbing a sandwich.

“So did I,” says Harry, taking one, too.

“Can you believe our luck, though?” says Ron thickly through a mouthful of chicken and ham. “Fred and George must’ve flown that car five or six times and no Muggle ever saw them.” He swallows and takes another huge bite. “Why couldn’t we get through the barrier?”

I shrug. “We’ll have to watch our step from now on, though,” I tell them, taking a grateful swig of pumpkin juice. “Wish we could’ve gone up to the feast. . . .”

“She didn’t want us showing off,” says Harry sagely. “Doesn’t want people to think it’s clever, arriving by flying car.”

When we had eaten as many sandwiches as we could (the plate kept refilling itself), we left the dungeon and stared up for the tower. I split off from the boys and made my way to the infirmary. Once I’m there Madame Pomfrey hurries up to me shaking her head.

“This must be a new record Jamie Pendragon. Never in all of my years have I had to treat a student for an injury that they’ve obtained before the first day of class. You’re too much like your mother was for your own good.” She tisks.

I immediately perk up hearing my mother being mentioned. “I’m like my mother?” I ask her. She blinks at me for a second then smiles softly.

“Yes dear that you definitely are. She never could seem to sit still. As long as there was something to be doing, she was the one doing it. It didn’t seem to matter to her that she always seemed to get injured along the way.” She tells me preparing a potion for me to take.

“Now sit back and try to relax, this is going to hurt.” She warns me. Isn’t that the catch phrase of my life now?


	5. Gilderoy Lockhart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

5-Gilderoy Lockhart

 

The next morning I was finally released from the hospital. A good thing was that I was at least able to get a good night’s sleep because of the potion that I had to take last night to make the pain bearable. I was worried about what was going to come in the mail this morning. Kingsley had never seen fit to actually send us howlers before in the mail when he was away at work, but I’m pretty sure that he’s going to break this time.

I’ve flown in the car twice, and this time we were seen by muggles while doing it. I think that worst thing that came out of the night though was Luka saying that he didn’t want to speak with me. Sure we’d gotten mad at each other before but usually we were able to laugh it off. The last fight that we’d had that was really bad was when he was mean to my friends last year.

I hate to think what he’s going to do now. If anything it’s going to be ten times worse than last time for this time he’s in trouble too. Maybe I should have just been an only child. I let that thought sit there for a minute before shaking it out of my mind. No I wouldn’t be the same without my brother, as much as I may hate it, I don’t think that I could live without him.

I have to wear a sling for a day so that my mending bone can heal, but as soon as the time’s up I’ll be good as new. The dull ache is now my only reminder of what I did last night. Scratch that, that and the couple hundred other kids congratulating me on my spectacular performance onto school grounds last night.

I make my way over to Gryffindor table when a blond haired brown-eyed girl stops me. Ariana is in front of me with a worried look on her face. “Are you okay Jamie?” She asks me softly. It’s so soft that her voice is almost swallowed up by the noises of kids getting breakfast on the first day of class.

Somehow I think that she’s talking about more than just my arm. I ignore that thought though and put on a casual face. “Just dandy, I only got attacked by a demented tree after crashing in an evil demented car that happened to break my arm. Ariana can’t help but let out a laugh at my absurd statement. She shakes her head at me why she chuckles.

“Oh Jamie, what am I going to do with you?” She asks fondly? Wait what is she talking about? “I know about what happened with Luka. I’m here to talk if you need me. I’m not only Luka’s friend you know, whether you want to admit it or not I’m your friend as well.” Ariana states.

And with that the elusive and enigmatic Miss Dumbledore disappears back into the crowd on her way over to the Hufflepuff table. I finish making my way to the Gryffindor table, trying to shake off the weird feeling that I have from Ariana being so nice to me, and looking into my soul so much like that.

I find Hermione sitting at the table with one of what must be Lockhart’s books open in front of her. She’s totally engrossed in it. “Which one is that?” I ask even though I don’t really want to know. I’ve already made a pact with myself that I’m never touching anything that he’s ever written for schoolwork.

“ _Voyages with Vampires._ Its really quite good…” She starts but trails off when she sees that it’s me standing there. “Jamie are you okay?” She asks worry tingeing her voice. I grin sheepishly at her and rub the back of my head with my good hand.

“Yeah just a few breaks. Nothing a little bone-mending potion can’t fix. Hermione nods her head, and her expression turns into a scowl. Great, I was wondering when this was going to happen.

“You could have gotten yourself killed Jamie. You nearly did! Not even school is important enough over keeping yourself alive and healthy Jamie Pendragon.” Hermione lectures me. I’m frozen for a moment. Did Hermione just say that I’m more important than school? Did Hermione admit that anything is more important than school work?

“What happened to being expelled is worse then being dead?” I demand shocked at my friend. Hermione huffs and rolls her eyes at me, while tugging me down onto the bench next to her.

“Seriously Jamie you will always be more important than school or school work to me, you’re my best friend can you get that through your thick skull?” She questions. I feel a smile begin to form on my face. Before Hermione can react, I have my one good arm around her, hugging her as tightly as I can before I hurt myself.

“I love you too Mione.” I whisper into her ear. When I pull away Hermione is smiling at me and nodding her head.

“Well at least you got that down. Now all we need to do is teach you that adventure is not the only option available to you.” She states with a firm nod. I sigh and roll my eyes. I can’t wait for the boys to show up now.

* * *

 

Harry and Ron arrive a few minutes later with most of the other boys from their dorm room. I notice a distinct lack of warmth coming from Hermione after the pair sit down across from us. Great, so she is really ticked and she’s taking it out on the boys. I heave a sigh, if its not one thing, it’s another with my friends I tell you.

Neville Longbottom came and took a seat on my right side. “Morning all. I think the mail is coming soon. I think my gran is going to send a few things that I forgot.” Neville says cheerfully. I smile at Neville in return.

“Good morning to you too Neville, and it appears that you’re right.” I start off cheerfully then end dreadfully.

“Jamie are you expecting something bad to happen…” Ron asks me from across the table. I glance up at the beginnings of owls swooping into the Great Hall.

“I’m not particularly positive on a good outcome for us with this.” I admit. Ron shudders, and start eyeing all the owl warily. A big, lumpy package bounces off Neville’s head and, a second later, something large and gray falls into Hermione’s jug, spraying us all with milk and feathers.

“Errol!” says Ron, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet. Errol slumps, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in his beak.

“Oh, no —” Ron gasps. I cringe. This isn’t going to be good.

“It’s all right, he’s still alive,” says Hermione, prodding Errol gently with the tip of her finger.

“It’s not that — it’s that.” I tell her pulling her attention away from the bird, and to the red envelope.

“What’s the matter?” says Harry.

“She’s — she’s sent me a Howler,” says Ron faintly.

“You’d better open it, Ron,” says Neville in a timid whisper. “It’ll be worse if you don’t. My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and” — he gulped — “it was horrible.” I shudder in sympathy for what’s about to happen but then again I could be getting one soon as well, you never know.

“What’s a Howler?” Harry asks again. But Ron’s whole attention is fixed on the letter, which had begun to smoke at the corners. Rightly so I might add. This letter is the scourge of all wizarding children.

“Open it,” Neville urges. “It’ll all be over in a few minutes —”

Ron stretches out a shaking hand, eased the envelope from Errol’s beak, and slit it open. Neville stuffed his fingers in his ears. I do the same. A split second later, Harry knew why we did so. He looked for a moment that it had exploded; a roar of sound filled the huge hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.

“— STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY’D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON’T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE —”

Mrs. Weasley’s yells, a hundred times louder than usual, make the plates and spoons rattle on the table, and echo deafeningly off the stone walls. People throughout the hall were swiveling around to see who had received the Howler, and Ron sank so low in his chair that only his crimson forehead could be seen.

“— LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN’T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND THE OTHERS COULD BOTH HAVE DIED —”

“— ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED — YOUR FATHER’S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT’S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE’LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME.”

A ringing silence falls. The red envelope, which had dropped from Ron’s hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes. Harry and Ron sat stunned, as though a tidal wave had just passed over them. A few people laughed and, gradually, a babble of talk broke out again. I slowly pull my fingers out of my ears. It didn’t help much but it helped some.

I could believe that she sounded like that since I was there to witness her going off on us in person. I shudder again at the memory. If there was one person that you didn’t want to piss off it was Mrs. Weasley. Hermione closed Voyages with Vampires finally and looks down at the top of Ron’s head.

“Well, I don’t know what you expected, Ron, but you —” She starts.

“Don’t tell me I deserved it,” snaps Ron.

Suddenly Dionysus swoops into the hall mail clutched in his beak. He drops off a bundle at Luka’s spot. It manages to whack my brother in the head. Then Di swoops over to me, and drops my mail in my hands. I feed him a sausage link, and ruffle his feathers with my good hand. He gives a soft hoot, then takes back off to the sky.

I gulp when I see Kingsley’s name on top the first letter. Neither of them are red so that’s already a good thing in my book. I carefully open it, and pull out the parchment that’s inside.

_Dear Jamie,_

_I honestly don’t know what to think. You took the car again, after you knew that it was a bad idea the first time. Did you honestly think that the Weasleys wouldn’t be able to get you to Hogwarts another way? Your brother has already sent me an owl explaining his side of the story. He’s very upset you know. I believe that I can intuit what your side is but if you feel the need to explain, you can._

_I’m not sure exactly how to punish you anymore Jamie. You’re growing up and becoming more independent by the day. I’m just going to have to hope that you learn from your mistakes. I’m not upset that you took the car very much, I’m more upset that the result of those actions caused you to get hurt._

_Whether or not you are actually my daughter by blood Jamie, you are still mine. I worry about you very much when I’m away on a mission, so could you do me a favor and keep the magical adventures to a minimum while I’m gone. Remember, I’ll always love you._

_Yours,_

_Kingsley_

Before I even had a chance to look at the next envelope Professor McGonagall comes down the table handing our new schedules on. When I retrieve mine, I glance on what’s first on the docket today. I groan when I see my answer, double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs to start out the day.

Great. I get to spend even more quality time with Ariana when she’s confusing me already. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and I left the castle together, crossing the vegetable patch, and made for the greenhouses, where the magical plants are kept. At least the Howler had done one good thing: Hermione seemed to think we had now been punished enough and was being perfectly friendly again.

* * *

As we neared the greenhouses we saw the rest of the class standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. We had only just joined them when she came striding into view across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart. Professor Sprout’s arms are full of bandages, and with another twinge of guilt, I spot the Whomping Willow in the distance, several of its branches now in slings.

Professor Sprout is a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair; there was usually a large amount of earth on her clothes and her fingernails would have made Harry’s Aunt Petunia faint. Gilderoy Lockhart, however, was immaculate in sweeping robes of turquoise, his golden hair shining under a perfectly positioned turquoise hat with gold trimming.

“Oh, hello there!” he calls, beaming around at the assembled students. “Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don’t want you running away with the idea that I’m better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels . . .”

“Greenhouse three today, chaps!” calls Professor Sprout, who is looking distinctly disgruntled, not at all her usual cheerful self.

There is a murmur of interest. We had only ever worked in greenhouse one before — greenhouse three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout takes a large key from her belt and unlocks the door. I catch a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. Harry’s about to follow us inside when Lockhart’s hand shoots out.

“Harry! I’ve been wanting a word — you don’t mind if he’s a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?” Lockhart says.

Judging by Professor Sprout’s scowl, she did mind, but Lockhart says, “That’s the ticket,” and closed the greenhouse door in her face. Not to my surprise though, as soon as I get inside Ariana pops up again.

“Well looks like we have Herbology together again!” She chirps, settling in across from me at the long table that we’re told to gather around. I manage to get a smile on my face to give her the illusion that I’m somewhat happy about that as well. She’d be much better if she didn’t annoy me all the time.

The door opens again, and a haggled Harry comes in, and slides into his spot next to me. “Did I miss anything?” He whispers. I shake my head.

“What was that all about?” I question under my breath. Harry sighs, and rolls his eyes at the ground.

“I’ll tell you later.” He says. Professor Sprout is standing behind a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-colored earmuffs are lying on the bench.

“We’ll be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?”

To nobody’s surprise, Hermione’s hand was first into the air. “Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative,” says Hermione, sounding as usual as though she had swallowed the textbook. “It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state.”

“Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor,” says Professor Sprout. “The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?” Hermione’s hand narrowly missed hitting me as it shot up again.

“The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it,” she says promptly.

“Precisely. Take another ten points,” cries Professor Sprout. “Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young.” She points to a row of deep trays as she speaks, and everyone shuffles forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in color, are growing there in rows. They look quite unremarkable to me, even though I know what Hermione means by the “cry” of the Mandrake.

“Everyone take a pair of earmuffs,” says Professor Sprout. There is a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn’t pink and fluffy. I don’t get one thank god, but Ariana looks perfectly content with her pair, that is in my opinion the pinkest and the fluffiest of all.

“When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered,” instructs Professor Sprout. “When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right — earmuffs on.” I snap the earmuffs over my ears. They shut out sound completely.

Professor Sprout put the second pink, fluffy pair over her own ears, rolls up the sleeves of her robes, grasps one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulls hard.

I let out a gasp of surprise that no one could hear.

Instead of roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby pops out of the earth. The leaves are growing right out of his head. He has pale green, mottled skin, and is clearly bawling at the top of his lungs.

Professor Sprout takes a large plant pot from under the table and plunges the Mandrake into it, burying him in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves are visible. Professor Sprout dusts off her hands, gives us all the thumbs-up, and removes her own earmuffs.

“As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won’t kill yet,” she says calmly as though she’d just done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. “However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I’m sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up.

“Four to a tray — there is a large supply of pots here — compost in the sacks over there — and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it’s teething.”

She gives a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she speaks, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I quickly grab a tray and bring the plants closer to us.

I’m not sure how comfortable I am in handling babies, even if they’re only baby plants. I’m not ready to be a mum yet; I can’t have that sort of responsibility on my shoulders yet. I can’t help but feel slightly happy that Ariana is stuck at a tray with a boy from her house Justin Finch-Fletchley. I had run into him a few times and the boy just didn’t know when to shut up sometimes.

We’re mostly quiet. I’m pretty sure that Ron and I are still thinking over the letters that we’ve gotten today. Harry and Hermione make mindless comments to each other, asking about the remainder of their summers. After that we didn’t have much chance to talk. Our earmuffs were back on and we needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn’t.

The Mandrakes didn’t like coming out of the earth, but didn’t seem to want to go back into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth; Harry spent ten whole minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot. By the end of the class, I, like everyone else, was sweaty, aching, and covered in earth.

Everyone traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash and then the Gryffindors hurried off to Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall’s classes were always hard work, but today was especially difficult. We are supposed to be turning beetles into buttons, but I’m not having all that much success.

I’ve managed to turn it round, but now the saucer shaped beetle is scurrying around trying to avoid the rest of the transformation. Too bad the little thing can only move in circles. I was having better luck than Harry and Ron though. Harry was just giving his beetle exercise.

Ron was having far worse problems. He had patched up his wand with some borrowed Spellotape, but it seemed to be damaged beyond repair. It kept crackling and sparking at odd moments, and every time Ron tried to transfigure his beetle it engulfed him in thick gray smoke that smelled of rotten eggs.

Unable to see what he is doing, Ron accidentally squashed his beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a new one. Professor McGonagall wasn’t pleased.

I was relieved to hear the lunch bell. My brain feels like a wrung sponge. Everyone files out of the classroom except Harry, me, and Ron, who was whacking his wand furiously on the desk.

“Stupid — useless — thing —”

“Write home for another one,” Harry suggests as the wand lets off a volley of bangs like a firecracker.

“Oh, yeah, and get another Howler back,” mutters Ron, stuffing the now hissing wand into his bag. “‘It’s your own fault your wand got snapped —’” We went down to lunch, where Ron’s mood was not improved by Hermione showing us the handful of perfect coat buttons she had produced in Transfiguration.

“What’ve we got this afternoon?” I ask, hastily changing the subject.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” replies Hermione at once.

“Why,” demands Ron, seizing her schedule, “have you outlined all Lockhart’s lessons in little hearts?” Hermione snatches the schedule back, blushing furiously. I let out a groan and bang my head against the table.

“No Mione! You were supposed to be the only other sane girl in our year? Why have you gone to the dark side? What has he got beside a head full of hair care product, and bleached teeth?” I demand. Hermione rears back affronted.

“You’d best not talk about a professor like that Jamie. Professor Lockhart, has done so many extraordinary things! He’s a genius I say!” She proclaims turning to her food so as to not hear my response. The boys give me sympathetic looks. While loading up my plate I glance at the Ravenclaw table.

I see my Luka sitting with his friends, but his head is down, and he’s obviously in a bad mood. He looks up suddenly, and his gaze connects with mine. The glare that’s on his face today is worse than the one from yesterday. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I turn to see Harry giving me an understanding look.

“He’ll come round Jamie. He just needs some time.” Harry assures me. We finish lunch and go outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione sits down on a stone step and buries her nose in Voyages with Vampires again.

Harry, Ron, and I stand talking about Quidditch for several minutes before Harry became aware that he was being closely watched. Looking up, he sees the very small, mousy-haired boy we’d seen trying on the Sorting Hat last night staring at Harry as though transfixed. He is clutching what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera, and the moment Harry looked at him, he goes bright red.

“All right, Harry? I’m — I’m Colin Creevey,” he says breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. “I’m in Gryffindor, too. D’you think — would it be all right if — can I have a picture?” he asks, raising the camera hopefully.

“A picture?” Harry repeats blankly. Oh boy, please don’t tell me that he’s going to be one of those celebrity groupies. I don’t think that I could stand to have one of those in my house.

“So I can prove I’ve met you,” says Colin Creevey eagerly, edging further forward. “I know all about you. Everyone’s told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you’ve still got a lightning scar on your forehead” (his eyes raked Harry’s hairline) “and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures’ll move.” Colin draws a great shuddering breath of excitement and says,

“It’s amazing here, isn’t it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad’s a milkman, he couldn’t believe it either. So I’m taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it’d be really good if I had one of you” — he looked imploringly at Harry — “maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?”

We blink stupidly for a second. I never knew that someone could speak that much in just a few seconds. “You too Jamie. Pendragons are extremely rare as well.” He informs me. Okay that’s it. I’m not some sort of endangered species that people can just poke and prod at all the while oohing and aahing. Before I can do anything though we’re interrupted.

“Signed photos? You’re giving out signed photos, Potter?” Loud and scathing, Draco Malfoy’s voice echoes around the courtyard. He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked, as he always was at Hogwarts, by his large and thuggish cronies, Crabbe and Goyle.

“Everyone line up!” Malfoy roars to the crowd. “Harry Potter’s giving out signed photos!”

“No, I’m not,” says Harry angrily, his fists clenching. “Shut up, Malfoy.”

“You’re just jealous,” pipes up Colin, whose entire body was about as thick as Crabbe’s neck. Oh boy, this isn’t going to end well. Is it just me or has the amount of drams increased tenfold since we’ve become second years?

“Jealous?” says Malfoy, who didn’t need to shout anymore: Half the courtyard was listening in. “Of what? I don’t want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don’t think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself.” Crabbe and Goyle are sniggering stupidly.

“Eat slugs, Malfoy,” grounds Ron angrily. Crabbe stops laughing and started rubbing his knuckles in a menacing way.

“Be careful, Weasley,” sneers Malfoy. “You don’t want to start any trouble or your mummy’ll have to come and take you away from school.” He puts on a shrill, piercing voice. “‘If you put another toe out of line’ —” A knot of Slytherin fifth years nearby laugh loudly at this.

“Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter,” smirks Malfoy. “It’d be worth more than his family’s whole house —” Ron whips out his Spellotaped wand, but Hermione shuts Voyages with Vampires with a snap and whispers,

“Look out!”

“What’s all this, what’s all this?” Gilderoy Lockhart is striding toward us, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. “Who’s giving out signed photos?” Harry starts to speak but he is cut short as Lockhart flings an arm around his shoulders and thunders jovially, “Shouldn’t have asked! We meet again, Harry!”

Harry is pinned to Lockhart’s side and burning with humiliation, I see Malfoy slide smirking back into the crowd.

“Come on then, Mr. Creevey,” says Lockhart, beaming at Colin. “A double portrait, can’t do better than that, and we’ll both sign it for you.” Colin fumbles for his camera and takes the picture as the bell rings behind us, signaling the start of afternoon classes.

“Off you go, move along there,” Lockhart calls to the crowd, and he sets off back to the castle with Harry, who was wishing he knew a good Vanishing Spell, still clasped to his side. I shake my head partially in anger over Malfoy’s comments to my friends and partially in annoyance that I’m finally going to have to face the facts that my life sucks and go to Lockhart’s class.

I was just hoping that if I ignored it enough, that the professor and the class would magically disappear. By the time that we had managed to get to class, Harry had set up a wall of Lockhart’s books in front of him so he wouldn’t have to see the actual thing. I liked that Idea so much that I snagged the seat next to him and did the exact same thing.

Ron sat on Harry’s other side, and Hermione sat in front of us. She was busy adjusting her hair and robes, to make herself look more presentable when Lockhart started class. I just about gagged. “You could’ve fried an egg on your face,” says Ron. “You’d better hope Creevey doesn’t meet Ginny, or they’ll be starting a Harry Potter fan club.”

“Shut up,” snaps Harry. The last thing he needed was for Lockhart to hear the phrase “Harry Potter fan club.” When the whole class was seated, Lockhart clears his throat loudly and silence falls. He reaches forward, picks up Neville Longbottom’s copy of Travels with Trolls, and holds it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.

“Me,” he says, pointing at it and winking as well. “Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award — but I don’t talk about that. I didn’t get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!”

He waits for us to laugh; a few people smile weakly. “I see you’ve all bought a complete set of my books — well done. I thought we’d start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about — just to check how well you’ve read them, how much you’ve taken in —”

When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and says, “You have thirty minutes — start — now!”

I look down at my paper and read:

 

  1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color?
  2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s secret ambition?
  3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart’s greatest achievement to date?



 

On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:

 

  1. When is Gilderoy Lockhart’s birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?



 

I scoff looking over the ridiculous questions. So I switched to plan B. When given ridiculous questions, return ridiculous answers in kind. Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color is beige. His secret ambition is that he had always wanted to become a muggle circus clown. Lockhart’s greatest achievement to date is that he actually landed this job as a professor at this school.

Nobody knows when his birthday is and nobody really particularly cares except him. In all it was probably the most ridiculous most demeaning test that I’ve ever had the displeasure of having to take, and that’s saying something considering that I have Snape for one of my professors.

Half an hour later, Lockhart collects the papers and rifles through them in front of the class. I know when he finds mine, because a scowl crosses over his face. I watch as he sets that one down on the desk.

“Tut, tut — hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in Year with the Yeti. And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully — I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples — though I wouldn’t say no to a large bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky!”

He gives us another roguish wink. Ron is now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face; Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who are sitting in front, are shaking with silent laughter. Hermione, on the other hand, was listening to Lockhart with rapt attention and gave a start when he mentioned her name.

“. . . but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions — good girl! In fact” — he flips her paper over — “full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?” Hermione raises a trembling hand.

“Excellent!” beams Lockhart. “Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so — to business —” I can’t believe that I’m friends with that girl. Seriously, she knows that much about the idiot? I think that I’m going to be physically ill.

He bends down behind his desk and lifts a large, covered cage onto it. “Now — be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm.”

In spite of myself, I leaned around my pile of books for a better look at the cage. Lockhart places a hand on the cover. Dean and Seamus have stopped laughing now. Neville is cowering in his front row seat.

“I must ask you not to scream,” says Lockhart in a low voice. “It might provoke them.” As the whole class holds its breath, Lockhart whips off the cover.

“Yes,” he says dramatically. “Freshly caught Cornish pixies.” Seamus Finnigan couldn’t control himself. He lets out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart can’t mistake for a scream of terror.

“Yes?” He smiles at Seamus.

“Well, they’re not — they’re not very — dangerous, are they?” Seamus chokes.

“Don’t be so sure!” says Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. “Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!”

The pixies are electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

“Right, then,” Lockhart says loudly. “Let’s see what you make of them!” And he opens the cage. What a bloody idiot. It is pandemonium. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seize Neville by the ears and lift him into the air. Several shoot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass.

The rest proceed to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. They grab ink bottles and spray the class with them, shred books and papers, tear pictures from the walls, upend the wastebasket, grab bags and books and throw them out of the smashed window; within minutes, half the class is sheltering under desks and Neville is swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.

“Come on now — round them up, round them up, they’re only pixies,” Lockhart shouts. He rolls up his sleeves, brandishes his wand, and bellows, “Peskipiksi Pesternomi!”

“That’s not even a real spell!” I shout. It has absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seizes his wand and throws it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulps and dives under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way.

The bell rings and there is a mad rush to the exit. In the relative calm that follows, Lockhart straightens up, catches sight of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me, who were almost at the door, and says, “Well, I’ll ask you four to just nip the rest of them back into their cage.” He sweeps past us and shuts the door quickly behind him.

“Can you believe him?” roars Ron as one of the remaining pixies bites him painfully on the ear.

“He just wants to give us some hands-on experience,” says Hermione, immobilizing two pixies at once with a clever Freezing Charm and stuffing them back into their cage.

“Have you gone mental Hermione? That man wouldn’t know a proper spell if it bit him in the arse!” I shout, freezing a few more. Hermione glowers at me.

“Hands on?” says Harry, who is trying to grab a pixie dancing out of reach with its tongue out. “Hermione, he didn’t have a clue what he was doing —”

“Rubbish,” says Hermione. “You’ve read his books — look at all those amazing things he’s done —”

“He says he’s done,” Ron mutters. I look at my two male friends with knowing looks. Lockhart is an idiot and we’re stuck with him for the whole year. Isn’t this just fantastic.


	6. Mudbloods and Murmurs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

6-Mudbloods and Murmurs

 

So school has become a game of hide and seek and unfortunately, it seemed to be a game that we were failing. The main person that Harry, Ron, and I are trying to avoid is Lockhart. Harry doesn’t want to see him because Lockhart wants to talk to him about Harry’s attempts at seeking fame. Ron and I don’t want to see him for he’s a blithering idiot.

If we had managed to avoid Lockhart one day it was only to run into Colin Creevey the next day. I’m pretty sure that he has Harry’s schedule all mapped out, for he keeps showing up at our classes whenever they end. He keeps asking Harry if he’s doing all right. He had tried that with me, but he had caught one time right after I’d had a run in with Lockhart and I might have scared him away.

I was okay with that though. He was being annoying enough to Harry for the both of us. Ron’s wand is still on the fritz surpassing itself on Friday morning by shooting out of Ron’s hand in Charms and hitting tiny old Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck. It was pretty funny, but the look on my friend’s face pretty much said that he was miserable.

We are groaning and tired by the time the weekend rolls around. The four of us are planning to go visit Hagrid on Saturday morning for tea. I haven’t seen Hagrid since he’d broken up the fight between Mr. Weasley, and Malfoy’s father in Flourish and Blotts a month ago. I was looking forward to seeing him.

I was woken up a few hours earlier than I would have liked on Saturday morning. I was being shaken awake, and I peel my eyes open to the sight of Angelina Johnson my teammate standing over me. “What’s the matter?” I ask rubbing my eyes, and struggling up into a seated position.

“Quidditch practice. Oliver is going all dictator over us already. He want’s the team in fighting shape earlier this year then last you.” She informs me. I let out a groan, and push my covers aside, to begin to get ready. See the things that I’m willing to sacrifice for Quidditch?

* * *

I’m waiting for Harry down in the common room. I’m attempting not to fall asleep leaning against my Nimbus 2000 but it’s beginning to be a hard thing to do. Luckily for me Harry comes traipsing down only a few minutes later. He looks about as awake as I feel at the moment.

“How was Wood able to get into the girls dormitory?” Harry asks around a yawn. I straighten up, and put my broomstick over my shoulder.

“He didn’t Angelina woke me up this morning.” I inform him, as we start out the portrait door. There is a clatter behind us. Colin Creevey came dashing down the spiral staircase, his camera swinging madly around his neck and something clutched in his hand.

“I heard someone saying your name on the stairs, Harry! Look what I’ve got here! I’ve had it developed, I wanted to show you —” Harry looks bemusedly at the photograph Colin is brandishing under his nose.

A moving, black-and-white Lockhart was tugging hard on an arm I recognize as Harry’s own. I was pleased to see that Harry’s photographic self was putting up a good fight and refusing to be dragged into view. As I watched, Lockhart gave up and slumped, panting, against the white edge of the picture.

“Will you sign it?” says Colin eagerly.

“No,” says Harry flatly, glancing around to check that the room was really deserted. “Sorry, Colin, I’m in a hurry — Quidditch practice —”

“Oh, wow! Wait for me! I’ve never watched a Quidditch game before!”

Colin scrambles through the hole after us.

“It’ll be really boring,” I say quickly, but Colin ignored me, his face shining with excitement.

“You play as well don’t you Jamie? I’ve heard that the pair of you are the youngest kids to ever get on a house team in a century! Weren’t you?” Colin asks hurrying to keep pace with us. You two must be brilliant. I’ve never flown before. Is it easy? Are those your own brooms? Is it true that you both have the fastest brooms in the school?” Colin continues asking.

I swear that this kid doesn’t have a mute button. How is he getting oxygen in? He hasn’t stopped talking for a good few minutes. Harry seems just about as stunned as I do. Harry finally gives in and starts teaching Colin about Quidditch. I’m still a little too asleep to be attempting any sort of lecture on sports.

I do manage to pitch in helpful bits when Harry forgets to mention something so that helps. Colin starts looking at me admiringly again, and I feel worry start to creep back in.

But Colin didn’t stop questioning Harry all the way down the sloping lawns to the Quidditch field, and Harry only shook him off when we reached the changing rooms; Colin calls after us in a piping voice, “I’ll go and get a good seat, Harry, Jamie!” and hurries off to the stands.

The rest of the Gryffindor team was already in the changing room. Wood was the only person who looks truly awake. Fred and George Weasley are sitting, puffy-eyed and tousle-haired, I sit down next to them and try to fall asleep against the wall behind me. My fellow Chasers, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson, are yawning side by side opposite us. Harry takes a seat next to me.

“There you are, guys, what kept you?” says Wood briskly. “Now, I wanted a quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the field, because I spent the summer devising a whole new training program, which I really think will make all the difference. . . .”

Wood is holding up a large diagram of a Quidditch field, on which are drawn many lines, arrows, and crosses in different-colored inks. He takes out his wand, taps the board, and the arrows begin to wiggle over the diagram like caterpillars. As Wood launches into a speech about his new tactics, Fred’s head droops right onto my shoulder and he begins to snore. I don’t push him off.

The first board takes nearly twenty minutes to explain, but there is another board under that, and a third under that one. I sink into a stupor as Wood drones on and on. Harry looks like he’s spaced out into his own little world.

“So,” says Wood, at long last, jerking me from a wistful fantasy about what I could be eating for breakfast at this very moment up at the castle. “Is that clear? Any questions?”

“I’ve got a question, Oliver,” says George, who has woken with a start. “Why couldn’t you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?” Wood isn’t pleased.

“Now, listen here, you lot,” he says, glowering at us all. “We should have won the Quidditch Cup last year. We’re easily the best team. But unfortunately — owing to circumstances beyond our control —”

Harry and I shift guiltily in our seats. Harry had been unconscious in the hospital wing for the final match of the previous year, and I had been bedridden there as well meaning that Gryffindor had been two players short and had suffered our worst defeat in three hundred years.

Wood takes a moment to regain control of himself. Our last defeat is clearly still torturing him. “So this year, we train harder than ever before. . . . Okay, let’s go and put our new theories into practice!” Wood shouts, seizing his broomstick and leading the way out of the locker rooms.

Stiff-legged and still yawning, his team follows. We had been in the locker room so long that the sun was up completely now, although remnants of mist hung over the grass in the stadium. As we walked onto the field, we see Ron and Hermione sitting in the stands.

“Aren’t you finished yet?” calls Ron incredulously.

“Haven’t even started,” I groan, looking jealously at the toast and marmalade Ron and Hermione had brought out of the Great Hall. “Wood’s been teaching us new moves.” We mount our broomsticks and kick at the ground soaring to the air. I circle to Angelina and Katie, and we start with passing drills to warm our arms back up. We hadn’t played with each other since last year.

It feels great to be on a Quidditch pitch again. I had been to a few games over the summer, when Kingsley had actually had the time to take us, but this was so much better, actually getting to fly on it. Harry is circling high above me. Fred and George are giving Harry a hard time about having Colin taking pictures of him flying.

I laugh as well for a second before Colin turns the camera on me. I immediately blush and catch the quaffle changing the drill into a shooting one. “What’s going on?” says Wood, frowning, as he skims through the air toward us. “Why’s that first year taking pictures? I don’t like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training program.”

“He’s in Gryffindor,” says Harry quickly.

“And the Slytherins don’t need a spy, Oliver,” says George.

“What makes you say that?” says Wood testily.

“Because they’re here in person,” comments George, pointing. Several people in green robes are walking onto the field, broomsticks in their hands.

“I don’t believe it!” Wood hisses in outrage. “I booked the field for today! We’ll see about this!” Wood shoots toward the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Harry, Fred, George, and I followed.

“Flint!” Wood bellows at the Slytherin Captain. “This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!”

Marcus Flint is even larger than Wood. He has a look of trollish cunning on his face as he replies, “Plenty of room for all of us, Wood.”

Angelina and Katie come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering to a man.

“But I booked the field!” says Wood, positively spitting with rage. “I booked it!”

“Ah,” says Flint. “But I’ve got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. ‘I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker.’”

“You’ve got a new Seeker?” says Wood, distracted. “Where?” And from behind the six large figures before us came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy.

“Seriously you have Malfoy as your seeker? He can’t even tell the end of his stick from his broom tail!” I exclaim before I can stop myself. Malfoy scowls and turns to look at me.

“Oh I forgot that the Gryffindor team was using worthless little girls.” He snarls back. Angelina and Katie rear back at the insult and begin to charge at him with me, but the boys manage to hold us back.

“Aren’t you Lucius Malfoy’s son?” says Fred, looking at Malfoy with dislike.

“Funny you should mention Draco’s father,” replies Flint as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. “Let me show you the generous gift he’s made to the Slytherin team.”

All seven of them hold out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleam under the Gryffindors’ noses in the early morning sun.

“Very latest model. Only came out last month,” says Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. “I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps” — he smiles nastily at Fred and George, who are both clutching Cleansweep Fives — “sweeps the board with them.”

Okay this is enough. I’m about ready to go and kick some ass. None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment. Malfoy is smirking so broadly his cold eyes were reduced to slits.

“Oh, look,” says Flint. “A field invasion.” Ron and Hermione are crossing the grass to see what is going on.

“What’s happening?” Ron asks Harry. “Why aren’t you playing? And what’s he doing here?” He is looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.

“I’m the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley,” says Malfoy, smugly. “Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father’s bought our team.” Ron gapes, openmouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him.

“Good, aren’t they?” says Malfoy smoothly. “But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them.” The Slytherin team howls with laughter.

“At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,” says Hermione sharply. “They got in on pure talent.” The smug look on Malfoy’s face flickers.

“No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,” he spits.

There is an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him, Angelina shrieks, “How dare you!”, and Ron plunges his hand into his robes, pulls out his wand, yelling, “You’ll pay for that one, Malfoy!” and points it furiously under Flint’s arm at Malfoy’s face. I’m raging mad, but I turn to Hermione, and pull her under my arm comfortingly.

A loud bang echoes around the stadium and a jet of green light shoots out of the wrong end of Ron’s wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backward onto the grass.

“Ron! Ron! Are you all right?” squeals Hermione. Ron opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. Instead he gives an almighty belch and several slugs dribble out of his mouth onto his lap.

The Slytherin team is paralyzed with laughter. Flint is doubled up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support. Malfoy is on all fours, banging the ground with his fist. The Gryffindors are gathered around Ron, who keeps belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seems to want to touch him.

“We’d better get him to Hagrid’s, it’s nearest,” says Harry to Hermione, who nods bravely, and the pair of them pull Ron up by the arms. I on the other hand march over to where Malfoy is still on all fours. I rear, back and kick him between the legs hard. With a high pitched yelp Malfoy collapses onto the ground.

“That’s for insulting my friend you smarmy little weasel!” I yell at him. The Gryffindor team is cheering for my action. Fred and George are shouting that I hit him where it really counts. They also wonder if Malfoy had anything for me to hit in the first place. I hurry to catch up to my friends, who have Colin Creevey trailing them.

“What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can’t you?” Colin has run down from his seat and was now dancing alongside us as we left the field. Ron gives a huge heave and more slugs dribble down his front.

“Oooh,” says Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. “Can you hold him still, Harry?”

“Get out of the way, Colin!” I say angrily. He and Hermione support Ron out of the stadium and across the grounds toward the edge of the forest.

“Nearly there, Ron,” says Hermione as the gamekeeper’s cabin comes into view.    “You’ll be all right in a minute — almost there —” We are within twenty feet of Hagrid’s house when the front door opens, but it isn’t Hagrid who emerges. Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing robes of palest mauve today, comes striding out.

“Quick, behind here,” Harry hisses, dragging Ron behind a nearby bush, Hermione follow, somewhat reluctantly, I duck behind there just in time.

“It’s a simple matter if you know what you’re doing!” Lockhart is saying loudly to Hagrid. “If you need help, you know where I am! I’ll let you have a copy of my book. I’m surprised you haven’t already got one — I’ll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, good-bye!” And he strides away towards the castle.

Harry waits until Lockhart is out of sight, then pulls Ron out of the bush and up to Hagrid’s front door. We knock urgently. Hagrid appears at once, looking very grumpy, but his expression brightens when he sees who it is. “Bin wonderin’ when you’d come ter see me — come in, come in — thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again —”

Harry and Hermione support Ron over the threshold into the one-roomed cabin, which has an enormous bed in one corner, a fire crackling merrily in the other. I follow and close the door behind us. Hagrid doesn’t seem perturbed by Ron’s slug problem, which Harry hastily explained as he lowers Ron into a chair.

“Better out than in,” he says cheerfully, plunking a large copper basin in front of him. “Get ’em all up, Ron.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to do except wait for it to stop,” says Hermione anxiously, watching Ron bend over the basin. “That’s a difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand —”

Hagrid is bustling around making us tea. His boarhound, Fang, is slobbering over Harry and me. That’s okay I happen to like Fang, he isn’t anything like Hagrid’s other demon hound.

“What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?” I ask, scratching Fang’s ears.

“Givin’ me advice on gettin’ kelpies out of a well,” growls Hagrid, moving a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and setting down the teapot. “Like I don’ know. An’ bangin’ on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I’ll eat my kettle.”

It is most unlike Hagrid to criticize a Hogwarts teacher, and we look at him in surprise. Hermione, however, says in a voice somewhat higher than usual, “I think you’re being a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job —”

“He was the on’y man for the job,” says Hagrid, offering us a plate of treacle toffee, while Ron coughs squelchily into his basin. “An’ I mean the on’y one. Gettin’ very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren’t too keen ter take it on, see. They’re startin’ ter think it’s jinxed. No one’s lasted long fer a while now. So tell me,” says Hagrid, jerking his head at Ron. “Who was he tryin’ ter curse?”

“Malfoy called Hermione something — it must’ve been really bad, because everyone went wild.” Harry tries to explain. My temper starts up again thinking about the comment.

“It was bad,” says Ron hoarsely, emerging over the tabletop looking pale and sweaty. “Malfoy called her ‘Mudblood,’ Hagrid —” Ron dives out of sight again as a fresh wave of slugs made their appearance. Hagrid looked outraged.

“He didn’!” he growls at Hermione.

“He did,” she says. “But I don’t know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course —”

“It’s about the most insulting thing he could think of,” I growl. “Mudblood’s a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born — you know, non-magic parents. There are some wizards — like Malfoy’s family — who think they’re better than everyone else because they’re what people call pure-blood.” Ron gives a small burp, and a single slug falls into his outstretched hand. He throws it into the basin and I continue, “I mean, the rest of us know it doesn’t make any difference at all. Look at Neville Longbottom — he’s pure-blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up.”

“An’ they haven’t invented a spell our Hermione can’ do,” says Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of magenta. I wrap my arm around her shoulder, and she leans into me.

“It’s a disgusting thing to call someone,” says Ron, wiping his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. “Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It’s ridiculous. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn’t married Muggles we’d’ve died out.”

He retches and ducks out of sight again.

“Well, I don’ blame yeh fer tryin’ ter curse him, Ron,” says Hagrid loudly over the thuds of more slugs hitting the basin. “Bu’ maybe it was a good thing yer wand backfired. ’Spect Lucius Malfoy would’ve come marchin’ up ter school if yeh’d cursed his son. Least yer not in trouble.”

“Harry,” says Hagrid abruptly as though struck by a sudden thought. “Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I’ve heard you’ve bin givin’ out signed photos. How come I haven’t got one?”

Furious, Harry wrenched his teeth from the treacle tart that had cemented his jaw shut apart.

“I have not been giving out signed photos,” he says hotly. “If Lockhart’s still spreading that around —” But then he sees that Hagrid is laughing.

“I’m on’y jokin’,” he says, patting Harry genially on the back and sending him face first into the table. “I knew yeh hadn’t really. I told Lockhart yeh didn’ need teh. Yer more famous than him without tryin’. Jamie too.”

“Bet he didn’t like that,” says Harry, sitting up and rubbing his chin.

“Don’ think he did,” replies Hagrid, his eyes twinkling. “An’ then I told him I’d never read one o’ his books an’ he decided ter go. Treacle toffee, Ron?” he adds as Ron reappears.

“No thanks,” says Ron weakly. “Better not risk it.”

“Come an’ see what I’ve bin growin’,” says Hagrid as Harry, Hermione, and I finish the last of our tea. In the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid’s house was a dozen of the largest pumpkins I had ever seen. Each was the size of a large boulder.

“Gettin’ on well, aren’t they?” says Hagrid happily. “Fer the Halloween feast . . . should be big enough by then.”

“What’ve you been feeding them?” I ask incredulously. Hagrid looks over his shoulder to check that we were alone.

“Well, I’ve bin givin’ them — you know — a bit o’ help —”

We notice Hagrid’s flowery pink umbrella leaning against the back wall of the cabin. We have had reason to believe before now that this umbrella was not all it looked; in fact, we had the strong impression that Hagrid’s old school wand was concealed inside it. Hagrid isn’t supposed to use magic. He had been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, but we had never found out why — any mention of the matter and Hagrid would clear his throat loudly and become mysteriously deaf until the subject was changed.

“An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?” says Hermione, halfway between disapproval and amusement. “Well, you’ve done a good job on them.”

“That’s what yer little sister said,” states Hagrid, nodding at Ron. “Met her jus’ yesterday.” Hagrid looks sideways at Harry, his beard twitching. “Said she was jus’ lookin’ round the grounds, but I reckon she was hopin’ she might run inter someone else at my house.” He winks at Harry. “If yeh ask me, she wouldn’ say no ter a signed —”

“Oh, shut up,” cries Harry. Ron snorts with laughter and the ground was sprayed with slugs.

“Watch it!” Hagrid roars, pulling Ron away from his precious pumpkins. It is nearly lunchtime and we had only had one bit of treacle toffee since dawn, Harry and I were keen to go back to school to eat. We say good-bye to Hagrid and walk back up to the castle, Ron hiccoughing occasionally, but only bringing up two very small slugs.

We had barely set foot in the cool entrance hall when a voice rings out, “There you are, Potter, Pendragon, Weasley.” Professor McGonagall is walking toward us, looking stern. “You three will do your detentions this evening.”

“What’re we doing, Professor?” asks Ron, nervously suppressing a burp.

“You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr. Filch and Mr. Pendragon,” says Professor McGonagall. “And no magic, Weasley — elbow grease.” Ron gulps. Argus Filch, the caretaker, is loathed by every student in the school. I feel sorry for Ron and my brother, but then I remember that my brother is currently not speaking to me, and my mood dowers.

“And you, Potter, Pendragon will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail,” says Professor McGonagall.

“Oh n — Professor, can’t I go and do the trophy room, too?” asks Harry desperately.

“I think manual labor is a much more suitable punishment.” I agree nodding my head vigorously.

“Certainly not,” says Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. “Professor Lockhart requested you two particularly. Eight o’clock sharp, both of you.” The three of us slump into the great hall and collapse into seats. Hermione sits next to me and gives us her, ‘you only did this to yourself’ look. The Shepard’s pie wasn’t as appetizing as it was before. Harry, Ron, and I all think that we got the worst end of the deal.

“Filch’ll have me there all night,” says Ron heavily. “No magic! There must be about a hundred cups in that room. I’m no good at Muggle cleaning. At least you two have each other.”

“I’d swap anytime,” says Harry hollowly. “I’ve had loads of practice with the Dursleys. Answering Lockhart’s fan mail . . . he’ll be a nightmare. . . .”

Saturday afternoon seems to melt away, and in what seemed like no time, it is five minutes to eight, and Harry and I are dragging our feet along the second-floor corridor to Lockhart’s office. We grit our teeth and knock. The door flew open at once. Lockhart beamed down at him.

“Ah, here’s the scalawags!” he cries. “Come in, Harry, Jamie come in —” Shining brightly on the walls by the light of many candles are countless framed photographs of Lockhart. He has even signed a few of them. Another large pile lay on his desk.

“You two can address the envelopes!” Lockhart tells us, as though this is a huge treat. “This first one’s to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her — huge fan of mine —”

The minutes snail by. Harry let Lockhart’s voice wash over him, occasionally saying, “Mmm” and “Right” and “Yeah.” I on the other hand, focus on my work while repeating the phrase that I couldn’t kill Lockhart over and over again. Now and then I catch a phrase like, “Fame’s a fickle friend, Harry,” or “Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that Jamie.”

The candles burn lower and lower, making the light dance over the many moving faces of Lockhart watching us. I move my aching hand over what felt like the thousandth envelope, writing out Veronica Smethley’s address. It must be nearly time to leave, I plead miserably, please let it be nearly time. 

Harry’s head suddenly shot up from the envelope that he’d been working on. I cock my eyebrow at him, making a silent question. A puzzled and slightly concerned look washes over Harry’s face. “What?” Harry says loudly.

“I know!” exclaims Lockhart. “Six solid months at the top of the best-seller list! Broke all records!”

“No,” says Harry frantically. “That voice!”

“Sorry?” says Lockhart, looking puzzled. “What voice?”

“That — that voice that said — didn’t you hear it?”

“There was no voice Harry.” I tell him softly, my fears beginning to spike a little. My friend should not be hearing voices that do not exist. Lockhart is looking at Harry in high astonishment.

“What are you talking about, Harry? Perhaps you’re getting a little drowsy? Great Scott — look at the time! We’ve been here nearly four hours! I’d never have believed it — the time’s flown, hasn’t it?”

Lockhart releases us, and we make our way up to the Gryffindor common room. “What voice Harry? What did it say?” I demand pulling my friend into a seat by the fire. I stare into Harry’s eyes willing him to tell me the answer.

“It was a voice… it was saying, come . . . come to me. . . . Let me rip you. . . . Let me tear you. . . . Let me kill you. . . .” Harry explains. A cold shiver rolls down my spine. That is definitely not a good voice to have going on in your head.

“Hearing voices isn’t good Harry. You need to tell me if it happens again okay?” I tell him. Harry nods his head and I give him a hug. Harry squeezes me back tightly. “Whatever’s going on you’re not alone in this. I’ll always have your back.” I tell him. Harry smiles gratefully at me, and makes his way on up to bed.

I turn and climb the stairs to my dorm, stopping outside the one with the plaque on it that reads second year. Harry’s voice is not a good sign. Hogwarts has just gotten a little bit scarier once again.


	7. The Deathday Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

7-The Deathday Party

 

October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup Potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward.

Ginny Weasley, who had been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire. Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid’s pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds.

Oliver Wood’s enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Harry and I are found, late one stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud.

Even aside from the rain and wind it hadn’t been a happy practice session. Fred and George, who had been spying on the Slytherin team, had seen for themselves the speed of those new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. They reported that the Slytherin team was no more than seven greenish blurs, shooting through the air like missiles.

As Harry and I squelch along the deserted corridor we came across somebody who looked just as preoccupied as we were. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, is staring morosely out of a window, muttering under his breath, “. . . don’t fulfill their requirements . . . half an inch, if that . . .”

“Hello, Nick,” I say.

“Hello, hello,” says Nearly Headless Nick, starting and looking round. He wears a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which conceals the fact that his neck is almost completely severed. He is pale as smoke, and we can see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside.

“You look troubled, young Potter and Pendragon,” says Nick, folding a transparent letter as he speaks and tucking it inside his doublet.

“So do you,” says Harry.

“Ah,” Nearly Headless Nick waves an elegant hand, “a matter of no importance. . . . It’s not as though I really wanted to join. . . . Thought I’d apply, but apparently I ‘don’t fulfill requirements’ —” In spite of his airy tone, there is a look of great bitterness on his face.

“But you would think, wouldn’t you,” he erupts suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, “that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?”

“Oh — yes,” I say, I was obviously supposed to agree.

“I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However —” Nearly Headless Nick shakes his letter open and reads furiously:

 

“‘We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.’”

 

Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffs the letter away. “Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry! Most people would think that’s good and beheaded, but oh, no, it’s not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore.”

Nearly Headless Nick takes several deep breaths and then says, in a far calmer tone, “So — what’s bothering you? Anything I can do?”

“No,” I say. “Not unless you know where we can get seven free Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Sly —”

The rest of my sentence is drowned out by a high-pitched mewling from somewhere near our ankles. We look down and find that we’re gazing into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It is Mrs. Norris, the skeletal gray cat who is used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless battle against students.

“You’d better get out of here, guys,” says Nick quickly. “Filch isn’t in a good mood — he’s got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He’s been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place —”

“Right,” says Harry, backing away from the accusing stare of Mrs. Norris, but not quickly enough. Drawn to the spot by the mysterious power that seems to connect him with his foul cat, Argus Filch bursts suddenly through a tapestry to Harry’s right, wheezing and looking wildly about for the rule-breaker. There is a thick tartan scarf bound around his head, and his nose is unusually purple.

“Filth!” he shouts, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly as he points at the muddy puddle that had dripped from Harry’s and my Quidditch robes. “Mess and muck everywhere! I’ve had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potter, Pendragon!”

So Harry and I wave a gloomy good-bye to Nearly Headless Nick and follow Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints on the floor. I have never been inside Filch’s office before; it is a place most students avoided. The room is dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingers about the place. Wooden filing cabinets stand around the walls; from their labels, we could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley have an entire drawer to themselves.    A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hand on the wall behind Filch’s desk. It was common knowledge that he is always begging Dumbledore to let him suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling.  

Filch grabs a quill from a pot on his desk and begins shuffling around looking for parchment. “Dung,” he mutters furiously, “great sizzling dragon bogies . . . frog brains . . . rat intestines . . . I’ve had enough of it . . . make an example . . . where’s the form . . . yes . . .”

He retrieves a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretches it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the ink pot.

“Name . . . Harry Potter and Jamie Pendragon. Crime . . .”

“It was only a bit of mud!” I cry.

“It’s only a bit of mud to you, girl, but to me it’s an extra hour scrubbing!” shouts Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose. “Crime . . . befouling the castle . . . suggested sentence . . .”

Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squints unpleasantly at Harry and me, we wait with bated breath for his sentence to fall.

But as Filch lowers his quill, there is a great BANG! on the ceiling of the office, which makes the oil lamp rattle.

“PEEVES!” Filch roars, flinging down his quill in a transport of rage. “I’ll have you this time, I’ll have you!” And without a backward glance at Harry and me, Filch runs flat-footed from the office, Mrs. Norris streaking alongside him. Peeves is the school poltergeist, a grinning, airborne menace who lives to cause havoc and distress. I didn’t much like Peeves, but can’t help but feel grateful for his timing. Hopefully, whatever Peeves had done (and it sounds as though he’d wrecked something very big this time) would distract Filch from us.

Thinking that we should probably wait for Filch to come back, Harry sinks into a moth-eaten chair next to the desk. I choose to stay standing. There is only one thing on it apart from his half-completed form: a large, glossy, purple envelope with silver lettering on the front. With a quick glance at the door to check that Filch wasn’t on his way back, Harry picks up the envelope and reads:

KWIKSPELL

_____________________________________

A Correspondence Course in Beginners’ Magic

Intrigued, Harry flicks the envelope open and pulls out the sheaf of parchment inside. More curly silver writing on the front page says: “Feel out of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spells? Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork?

There is an answer!

 

Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn course. Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from the Kwikspell method!

 

Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes:

“I had no memory for incantations and my potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the center of attention at parties and friends beg for the recipe of my Scintillation Solution!”

 

Warlock D. J. Prod of Didsbury says:

“My wife used to sneer at my feeble charms, but one month into your fabulous Kwikspell course and I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!”

 

Fascinated, Harry thumbs through the rest of the envelope’s contents. “You shouldn’t be doing that. Its private.” I tell him softly knowing what the envelope signifies. A shuffling outside the door alerts us that Filch is coming back. Stuffing the parchment back into the envelope, Harry throws it back onto the desk just as the door opens. Filch is looking triumphant.

“That Vanishing Cabinet was extremely valuable!” he is saying gleefully to Mrs. Norris. “We’ll have Peeves out this time, my sweet —” His eyes fall on Harry and then darts to the Kwikspell envelope, which, Harry realizes too late, is lying two feet away from where it had started. Filch’s pasty face goes brick red. I brace myself for a tidal wave of fury.

Filch hobbles across to his desk, snatches up the envelope, and throws it into a drawer. “Have you — did you read — ?” he sputters.

“No,” Harry lies quickly. I just shake my head no. Filch’s knobbly hands are twisting together.

“If I thought you’d read my private — not that it’s mine — for a friend — be that as it may — however —” I stare at him, alarmed; Filch has never looked madder. His eyes are popping, a tic is going in one of his pouchy cheeks, and the tartan scarf didn’t help. “Very well — go — and don’t breathe a word — not that — however, if you didn’t read — go now, I have to write up Peeves’ report — go —”

Amazed at our luck, Harry and I speed out of the office, up the corridor, and back upstairs. To escape from Filch’s office without punishment is probably some kind of school record. “Jamie! Harry! Did it work?” Nearly Headless Nick comes gliding out of a classroom. Behind him, we can see the wreckage of a large black-and-gold cabinet that appears to have been dropped from a great height.

“I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch’s office,” says Nick eagerly. “Thought it might distract him —”

“Was that you?” I ask gratefully. “Yeah, it worked, we didn’t even get detention. Thanks, Nick!” We set off up the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick, Harry noticed, was still holding Sir Patrick’s rejection letter.

“I wish there was something I could do for you about the Headless Hunt,” Harry says. Nearly Headless Nick stops in his tracks and Harry and I walk right through him. I wish he hadn’t; it is like stepping through an icy shower.

“But there is something you could do for me,” says Nick excitedly. “Harry, Jamie — would I be asking too much — but no, you wouldn’t want —”

“What is it?” I ask.

“Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday,” says Nearly Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified.

“Oh,” breathes Harry, not sure whether we should look sorry or happy about this. “Right.”

“I’m holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honor if you would attend. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger would be most welcome, too, of course — but I daresay you’d rather go to the school feast?” He watches Harry and me on tenterhooks.

“No,” said Harry quickly, “I’ll come —”

“I wouldn’t miss it Sir. Nicholas.” I say with a smile.

“My dear girl! Jamie Pendragon and Harry Potter, at my deathday party! And” — he hesitates, looking excited — “do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?”

“Of — of course,” says Harry. Nearly Headless Nick beams at us.

* * *

 

“A deathday party?” says Hermione keenly when Harry and I have changed at last and join her and Ron in the common room. “I bet there aren’t many living people who can say they’ve been to one of those — it’ll be fascinating!”

“Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?” says Ron, who is halfway through his Potions homework and grumpy. “Sounds dead depressing to me. . . .”

Rain is still lashing the windows, which are now inky black, but inside all looks bright and cheerful. The firelight glows over the countless squashy armchairs where people sit reading, talking, doing homework or, in the case of Fred and George Weasley, trying to find out what would happen if you feed a Filibuster firework to a salamander. Fred had “rescued” the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it is now smoldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people.

Harry looks about ready to say something big when the salamander suddenly whizzes into the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirls wildly round the room. The sight of Percy bellowing himself hoarse at Fred and George, the spectacular display of tangerine stars showering from the salamander’s mouth, and its escape into the fire, with accompanying explosions, drives both Filch and the wanted conversation from my mind.

* * *

By the time Halloween arrives, I was regretting my rash promise to go to the deathday party. The rest of the school is happily anticipating their Halloween feast; the Great Hall has been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid’s vast pumpkins have been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in, and there are rumors that Dumbledore has booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment.

My mood happens to be even worse for Luka is still not speaking to me. I was hoping that this would have been something that he could have gotten over easily, but I guess that almost getting him expelled has finally pushed him passed his limits. He’s been practically glued to Ariana’s side. Its annoying seeing him clinging to her like a needy puppy.

Ariana has been trying to get the two of us to talk to each other but it hasn’t been working. I wonder if she has noticed yet that my brother is reduced to being a simpering wreck around her. I can’t believe that he has a crush on her.

“A promise is a promise,” Hermione reminds us bossily. “You said you’d go to the deathday party.” So at seven o’clock, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I walk straight past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which is glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and direct our steps instead towards the dungeons.

The passageway leads to Nearly Headless Nick’s party has been lined with candles, too, though the effect is far from cheerful: These are long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over their own living faces. The temperature drops with every step we take. As I shiver and draw my robes tightly around me, I hear what sounds like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.

“Is that supposed to be music?” Ron whispers. We turn a corner and see Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

“My dear friends,” he says mournfully. “Welcome, welcome . . . so pleased you could come. . . .” He sweeps off his plumed hat and bows us inside. It is an incredible sight. The dungeon is full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform.

A chandelier overhead blazes midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Our breath rises in a mist before us; it is like stepping into a freezer.

“Shall we have a look around?” Harry suggests, wanting to warm up his feet.

“Careful not to walk through anyone,” says Ron nervously, and we set off around the edge of the dance floor. We pass a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who is talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. I’m not surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts.

“Oh, no,” says Hermione, stopping abruptly. “Turn back, turn back, I don’t want to talk to Moaning Myrtle —” I groan, and duck my head, hoping that the ghost doesn’t see me. I had an encounter with her before, and let me tell you it wasn’t at all pleasant.

“Who?” says Harry as we backtrack quickly.

“She haunts one of the toilets in the girls’ bathroom on the first floor,” I explain to the clueless boys

“She haunts a toilet?” Ron guffaws.

“Yes. It’s been out of order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it; it’s awful trying to have a pee with her wailing at you —” Hermione continues.

“Look, food!” Ron cries. On the other side of the dungeon is a long table, also covered in black velvet. We approach it eagerly but next moment stop in our tracks, horrified. The smell is quite disgusting. Large, rotten fish are laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal-black, are heaped on salvers; there is a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mold and, in pride of place, an enormous gray cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words,

 

SIR NICHOLAS DE MIMSY-PORPINGTON

DIED 31ST OCTOBER, 1492

 

I watch, amazed, as a portly ghost approaches the table, crouches low, and walks through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.

“Can you taste it if you walk through it?” Harry asks him.

“Almost,” says the ghost sadly, and he drifts away.

“I expect they’ve let it rot to give it a stronger flavor,” says Hermione knowledgeably, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis.

“Can we move? I feel sick,” complains Ron. I agree with him there.

We have barely turned around, however, when a little man swoops suddenly from under the table and comes to a halt in midair before us.

“Hello, Peeves,” says Harry cautiously. Unlike the ghosts around us, Peeves the Poltergeist is the very reverse of pale and transparent. He is wearing a bright orange party hat, a revolving bow tie, and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face.

“Nibbles?” he says sweetly, offering us a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.

“No thanks,” says Hermione.

“Heard you talking about poor Myrtle,” says Peeves, his eyes dancing. “Rude you was about poor Myrtle.” He takes a deep breath and bellows, “OI! MYRTLE!”

“Oh, no, Peeves, don’t tell her what I said, she’ll be really upset,” I whisper frantically. “I didn’t mean it, I don’t mind her — er, hello, Myrtle.”

The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She has the glummest face I have ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles. “What?” she says sulkily.

“How are you, Myrtle?” says Hermione in a falsely bright voice. “It’s nice to see you out of the toilet.” Myrtle sniffs.

“Miss Granger and Miss Pendragon were just talking about you —” says Peeves slyly in Myrtle’s ear.

“Just saying — saying — how nice you look tonight,” I say , glaring at Peeves.

Myrtle eyes Hermione and me suspiciously.

“You’re making fun of me,” she says, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.

“No — honestly — didn’t Jamie just say how nice Myrtle’s looking?” says Hermione, nudging Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs.

“Oh, yeah —”

“She did —”

“Don’t lie to me,” Myrtle gasps, tears now flooding down her face, while Peeves chuckles happily over her shoulder. “D’you think I don’t know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!”

“You’ve forgotten pimply,” Peeves hisses in her ear. Moaning Myrtle bursts into anguished sobs and flees from the dungeon. Peeves shoots after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts, yelling, “Pimply! Pimply!”

“Oh, dear,” says Hermione sadly. I shake my head at that. I feel sorry for the poor ghost, but she’s never nice to anyone, so she makes it hard to be sympathetic. I think that the only human she likes in Ariana. I’m beginning to think that everyone on the face of the earth likes her except for me.

Nearly Headless Nick now drifts toward us through the crowd. “Enjoying yourselves?”

“Oh, yes,” We lie.

“Not a bad turnout,” says Nearly Headless Nick proudly. “The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent. . . . It’s nearly time for my speech, I’d better go and warn the orchestra. . . .”

The orchestra, however, stops playing at that very moment. We, and everyone else in the dungeon, fall silent, looking around in excitement, as a hunting horn sounds.

“Oh, here we go,” says Nearly Headless Nick bitterly. Through the dungeon wall bursts a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly claps wildly; we start to clap, too, but stop quickly at the sight of Nick’s face. The horses gallop into the middle of the dance floor and halts, rearing and plunging.

At the front of the pack is a large ghost who holds his bearded head under his arm, from which position he is blowing the horn. The ghost leaps down, lifting his head high in the air so he can see over the crowd (everyone laughs), and strides over to Nearly Headless Nick, squashing his head back onto his neck.

“Nick!” he roars. “How are you? Head still hanging in there?” He gives a hearty guffaw and clapped Nearly Headless Nick on the shoulder. I can begin to understand why Nick really hates this guy.

“Welcome, Patrick,” says Nick stiffly.

“Live ’uns!” crows Sir Patrick, spotting Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head falls off again (the crowd howls with laughter).

“Very amusing,” says Nearly Headless Nick darkly.

“Don’t mind Nick!” shouts Sir Patrick’s head from the floor. “Still upset we won’t let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say — look at the fellow —”

“I think,” says Harry hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick, “Nick’s very — frightening and — er —”

“Ha!” yells Sir Patrick’s head. “Bet he asked you to say that!”

“If I could have everyone’s attention, it’s time for my speech!” says Nearly Headless Nick loudly, striding toward the podium and climbing into an icy blue spotlight.

“My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow . . .” But nobody hears much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt have just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd is turning to watch. Nearly Headless Nick tries vainly to recapture his audience, but gives up as Sir Patrick’s head goes sailing past him to loud cheers.

I am very cold by now, not to mention hungry. “I can’t stand much more of this,” Ron mutters, his teeth chattering, as the orchestra grinds back into action and the ghosts sweep back onto the dance floor.

“Let’s go,” Harry agrees.

We back toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at us, and a minute later we’re hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles.

“Pudding might not be finished yet,” says Ron hopefully, leading the way toward the steps to the entrance hall. That’s when Harry starts to go crazy again. Harry stumbles to a halt clutching the stone wall of the passageway with all his might. I whirl around to my best friend and grab his arm.

“Harry…” I start but trail off.

“Harry what’re you…” Hermione says.

“It’s that voice again—shut up a minute.” Harry snaps. I can hear nothing. Not a sound is being made except for the sound of our labored breathing.

“Listen.” Harry beseechs. “This way,” he shouts, and he begins to run, up the stairs, into the entrance hall. Harry sprints up the marble staircase to the first floor, Ron, Hermione, and I clattering behind him.

“Harry, what’re we —” Ron pants.

“SHH!” He hisses back. “It’s going to kill someone!” he shouts, and ignoring Ron’s, Hermione’s, and my bewildered faces, he runs up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to listen over his own pounding footsteps —

Harry hurtles around the whole of the second floor, Ron, Hermione, and I panting behind him, not stopping until we turn a corner into the last, deserted passage.

“Harry, what was that all about?” I demand, wiping sweat off my face. “I couldn’t hear anything. . . .” But Hermione gives a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor.

“Look!” Something is shining on the wall ahead. We approach slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words have been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

 

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

 

“What’s that thing — hanging underneath?” says Ron, a slight quiver in his voice.

As we edge nearer, I almost slip — there is a large puddle of water on the floor; Ron grabs Harry, and Hermione grabs me, and we inch toward the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All four of us realize what it is at once, and leap backward with a splash.

Mrs. Norris, the caretaker’s cat, is hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She is stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring. For a few seconds, we didn’t move. Then Ron says, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Shouldn’t we try and help —” Harry begins awkwardly. I’m frozen stiff in horror much like Mrs. Norris. Who or what could have done something like this. I mean I know that the cat’s a menace but still!

“Trust me,” says Ron. “We don’t want to be found here.” But it is too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, tells us that the feast has just ended. From either end of the corridor where we stand comes the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people; next moment, students are crashing into the passage from both ends.

The chatter, the bustle, the noise dies suddenly as the people in front spot the hanging cat. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I stand alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence falls among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight.

Then someone shouts through the quiet.

“Enemies of the Heir, beware! You’ll be next, Mudbloods!” It is Draco Malfoy. He has pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grins at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat. This year just became horrible.

I can spot the faces of Ariana and my brother. Ariana’s face is horror stricken and worried. Her gaze keeps flicking between the cat and me. Luka glares first at Mrs. Norris then at me. This obviously hasn’t won me any points with him. Why couldn’t we have one normal year? Is that too much to ask?


	8. The Writing on the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

8-The Writing on the Wall

 

“What’s going on here? What’s going on?” Attracted no doubt by Malfoy’s shout, Argus Filch comes shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he sees Mrs. Norris and falls back, clutching his face in horror.

“My cat! My cat! What’s happened to Mrs. Norris?” he shrieks. And his popping eyes fall on Harry.

“You!” he screeches. “You! You’ve murdered my cat! You’ve killed her! I’ll kill you! I’ll —”

“Argus!” Dumbledore has arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers. In seconds, he has swept past Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and me and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

“Come with me, Argus,” he says to Filch. “You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, and you Miss Pendragon.” Lockhart steps forward eagerly.

“My office is nearest, Headmaster — just upstairs — please feel free —”

“Thank you, Gilderoy,” says Dumbledore. The silent crowd parts to let us pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurries after Dumbledore; so does Professors McGonagall and Snape.

As we enter Lockhart’s darkened office there is a flurry of movement across the walls; I see several of the Lockharts in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lights the candles on his desk and stands back. Dumbledore lays Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and begins to examine her. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I exchange tense looks and sink into chairs outside the pool of candlelight, watching.

The tip of Dumbledore’s long, crooked nose is barely an inch from Mrs. Norris’s fur. He is looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. Professor McGonagall is bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape looms behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression: It is as though he is trying hard not to smile. And Lockhart is hovering around all of them, making suggestions.

“It was definitely a curse that killed her — probably the Transmogrifian Torture — I’ve seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn’t there, I know the very countercurse that would have saved her. . . .” If he actually knew the answer then I had become Merlin myself.

Lockhart’s comments are punctuated by Filch’s dry, racking sobs. He is slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris, his face in his hands. Much as I detest Filch, I can’t help feeling a bit sorry for him, though not nearly as sorry as I feel for Harry. If Dumbledore believes Filch, he would be expelled for sure.

Dumbledore is now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand, but nothing happens: She continues to look as though she has been recently stuffed.

“. . . I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadogou,” says Lockhart, “a series of attacks, the full story’s in my autobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up at once. . . .”

The photographs of Lockhart on the walls are all nodding in agreement as he talks. One of them has forgotten to remove his hair net. At last Dumbledore straightens up.

“She’s not dead, Argus,” he says softly. Lockhart stops abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he has prevented.

“Not dead?” chokes Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris. “But why’s she all — all stiff and frozen?”

“She has been Petrified,” says Dumbledore (“Ah! I thought so!” cries Lockhart). “But how, I cannot say. . . .”

“Ask him!” shrieks Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Harry.

“No second year could have done this,” says Dumbledore firmly. “It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced —”

“He did it, he did it!” Filch spits, his pouchy face purpling. “You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found — in my office — he knows I’m a — I’m a — they both do.” Filch’s face works horribly. “They know I’m a Squib!” he finishes.

“I never touched Mrs. Norris!” Harry says loudly, uncomfortably aware of everyone looking at him, including all the Lockharts on the walls. “And I don’t even know what a Squib is.”

“Rubbish!” snarls Filch. “He saw my Kwikspell letter!”

“If I might speak, Headmaster,” says Snape from the shadows, and my sense of foreboding increases; I am sure nothing Snape has to say is going to do Harry any good.

“Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he says, a slight sneer curling his mouth as though he doubts it. “But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why is he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn’t he at the Halloween feast?”

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I all launch into an explanation about the deathday party. “. . . there were hundreds of ghosts, they’ll tell you we were there —”

“But why not join the feast afterward?” says Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. “Why go up to that corridor?” Ron and Hermione look at Harry. I shift my feet nervously because I know the answer.

“Because — because —” Harry falters looking for a plausible lie.

“Because we were tired and wanted to go to bed,” I say quickly, covering for Harry’s lack of higher thinking at the moment.

“Without any supper?” says Snape, a triumphant smile flickering across his gaunt face. “I didn’t think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties.”

“We weren’t hungry,” says Ron loudly as his stomach gave a huge rumble. Snape’s nasty smile widens.

“I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful,” he says. “It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest.”

“Really, Severus,” says Professor McGonagall sharply, “I see no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn’t hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong.”

Dumbledore is giving Harry a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze makes us feel as though we are being X-rayed. “Innocent until proven guilty, Severus,” he says firmly. Snape looks furious. So does Filch.

“My cat has been Petrified!” he shrieks, his eyes popping. “I want to see some punishment!”

“We will be able to cure her, Argus,” says Dumbledore patiently. “Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris.”

“I’ll make it,” Lockhart butts in. “I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep —”

“Excuse me,” says Snape icily. “But I believe I am the Potions master at this school.” There is a very awkward pause. If it was any other situation I would have snickered.

“You may go,” Dumbledore says to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me. We leave, as quickly as we could without actually running. When we are a floor up from Lockhart’s office, we turn into an empty classroom and close the door quietly behind us. Harry squints at our darkened faces.

“D’you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?” Harry asks looking at us.

“No,” says Ron, without hesitation. “Hearing voices no one else can hear isn’t a good sign, even in the Wizarding world.” Something in Ron’s voice makes Harry ask,

“You do believe me, don’t you?”

“’Course I do,” says Ron quickly. “But — you must admit it’s weird. . . .”

“I know it’s weird,” cries Harry. “The whole thing’s weird. What was that writing on the wall about? The Chamber Has Been Opened. . . . What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, it rings a sort of bell,” starts Ron slowly. “I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once . . . might’ve been Bill. . . .”

“And what on earth’s a Squib?” demands Harry. Ron stifles a snigger. I scoff at him, and roll my eyes.

“Well — it’s not funny really — but as it’s Filch,” I explain. “A Squib is someone who was born into a Wizarding family but hasn’t got any magic powers. Kind of the opposite of Muggle-born wizards, but Squibs are quite unusual. If Filch’s trying to learn magic from a Kwikspell course, I reckon he must be a Squib. It would explain a lot. Like why he hates students so much.” Ron gives me a satisfied smile. “He’s bitter.” A clock chimes somewhere.

“Midnight,” says Hermione. “We’d better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else.”

* * *

 

For a few days, the school can talk of little else but the attack on Mrs. Norris. Filch keeps it fresh in everyone’s minds by pacing the spot where she had been attacked, as though he thinks the attacker might come back. I have seen him scrubbing the message on the wall with Mrs. Skower’s All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but to no effect; the words still gleam as brightly as ever on the stone.

When Filch isn’t guarding the scene of the crime, he is skulking red-eyed through the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention for things like “breathing loudly” and “looking happy.”

Ginny Weasley seems very disturbed by Mrs. Norris’s fate. According to Ron, she is a great cat lover. “But you haven’t really got to know Mrs. Norris,” Ron tells her bracingly. “Honestly, we’re much better off without her.” Ginny’s lip trembles. “Stuff like this doesn’t often happen at Hogwarts,” Ron assures her. “They’ll catch the maniac who did it and have him out of here in no time. I just hope he’s got time to Petrify Filch before he’s expelled. I’m only joking —” Ron adds hastily as Ginny blanches.

The attack has also had an effect on Hermione. It isn’t quite usual for Hermione to spend a lot of time reading, but she is now doing almost nothing else. Nor could we get much response from her when we ask what she is up to, and not until the following Wednesday did we find out.

My brother on the other hand has seemed to have taken up the banner against me. If I see him walking in the hall he turns the other way even if his next class is the direction that I’m in. That really hurts. I haven’t spoken to my brother since September first. What am I supposed to do? I feel all weird and disconnected; he’s a part of me, yet he’s not.

On several occasions I’ve been reduced to tears over this fact. Unfortunately for me Ariana always seems to come across me when I have my moments of weakness. She usually just sits next to me quietly and take my hand. She doesn’t let go until my tears stop, and my breathing returns to normal. Then she leans over and wipes my tears away.

Before she leaves she always repeats the same sentence to me with a calm look on her face. “It will get better, just take it a day at a time.”

* * *

 

I am sitting in the library next to Ron who is furiously scribbling on his role of parchment trying to get the required length on the History of Magic essay. I have already done mine, and because I have I’m now playing with my charmed paper figures, I have me three headed hell hound, the fire-breathing kitten, and the troll tossing the paper Harry in the air. I am now trying to come up with a new one to add to my collection, but I’m coming up with blanks.

Ron groans about why his essay on The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards has to be 3 feet long. Harry hurries over to us, and takes a seat in a chair across the table. “I don’t believe it, I’m still eight inches short. . . .” says Ron furiously, letting go of his parchment, which springs back into a roll. “And Hermione’s done four feet seven inches and her writing’s tiny.”

“Where is she?” asks Harry, grabbing the tape measure and unrolling his own homework.

“Somewhere over there,” I say, pointing along the shelves. “Looking for another book. I think she’s trying to read the whole library before Christmas.” Harry tells Ron and me about Justin Finch-Fletchley running away from him. I think that’s odd. Hufflepuffs love practically everybody except for the Slytherins.

“Dunno why you care. I thought he was a bit of an idiot,” comments Ron, scribbling away, making his writing as large as possible. “All that junk about Lockhart being so great —”

Hermione emerges from between the bookshelves. She looks irritable and at last seems ready to talk to us. “All the copies of Hogwarts: A History have been taken out,” she sighs, sitting down next to me. “And there’s a two-week waiting list. I wish I hadn’t left my copy at home, but I couldn’t fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books.”

“Why do you want it?” Harry asks.

“The same reason everyone else wants it,” says Hermione, “to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets.” I perk up in my seat next to Hermione. I’ve heard that name mentioned before.

“What’s that?” asks Harry quickly.

“That’s just it. I can’t remember,” says Hermione, biting her lip. “And I can’t find the story anywhere else —”

“I’ve heard of it before. I think I overheard Kingsley and Dumbledore talking about it one day, when Kingsley was dropping Luka and I off at the Dumbledore estate. I don’t remember much more. I was little then.” I admit, smiling sheepishly at my friends.

“Hermione, let me read your composition,” says Ron desperately, checking his watch.

“No, I won’t,” snaps Hermione, suddenly severe. “You’ve had ten days to finish it —”

“I only need another two inches, come on —” The bell rings. Ron and Hermione lead the way to History of Magic, bickering. History of Magic is the dullest subject on our schedule. Professor Binns, who teaches it, is our only ghost teacher, and the most exciting thing that ever happens in his classes is his entering the room through the blackboard.

Ancient and shriveled, many people say he hadn’t noticed he was dead. He had simply got up to teach one day and left his body behind him in an armchair in front of the staffroom fire; his routine has not varied in the slightest since.

Today is as boring as ever. Professor Binns opens his notes and begins to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner until nearly everyone in the class is in a deep stupor, occasionally coming to long enough to copy down a name or date, then falling asleep again. He has been speaking for half an hour when something happens that has never happened before. Hermione puts up her hand. I’m shocked so much that I nearly fall out of my chair.

Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looks amazed.

“Miss — er — ?” He tries.

“Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets,” says Hermione in a clear voice. Dean Thomas, who has been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerks out of his trance; Lavender Brown’s head comes up off her arms and Neville Longbottom’s elbow slips off his desk.

Professor Binns blinks. “My subject is History of Magic,” he says in his dry, wheezy voice. “I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends.” He clears his throat with a small noise like chalk snapping and continues, “In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers —”

He stutters to a halt. Hermione’s hand is waving in the air again. “Miss Grant?”

“Please, sir, don’t legends always have a basis in fact?” Professor Binns is looking at her in such amazement, I am sure no student has ever interrupted him before, alive or dead.

“Well,” says Professor Binns slowly, “yes, one could argue that, I suppose.” He peers at Hermione as though he has never seen a student properly before. “However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale —”

But the whole class is now hanging on Professor Binns’s every word. He looks dimly at us all, every face turned to his. I can tell he is completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest.

“Oh, very well,” he sighs slowly. “Let me see . . . the Chamber of Secrets . . .

“You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago — the precise date is uncertain — by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution.”

He pauses, gazing blearily around the room, and continues. “For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school.”

Professor Binns pauses again, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise.

“Reliable historical sources tell us this much,” he explains. “But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing.

“Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic.”

There is silence as he finishes telling the story, but it isn’t the usual, sleepy silence that fill Professor Binns’s classes. There is unease in the air as everyone continues to watch him, hoping for more. Professor Binns looks faintly annoyed.

“The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course,” he says. “Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible.”

This time I find my hand going into the air. Professor Binns looks like he’s going to have a heart attack but, nods to me anyway. “Sir — what exactly do you mean by the ‘horror within’ the Chamber?”

“That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control,” expounds Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice. The class exchanges nervous looks.

“I tell you, the thing does not exist,” cries Professor Binns, shuffling his notes. “There is no Chamber and no monster.”

“But, sir,” says Seamus Finnigan, “if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin’s true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?”

“Nonsense, O’Flaherty,” snaps Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. “If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven’t found the thing —”

“But, Professor,” pipes up Parvati Patil, “you’d probably have to use Dark Magic to open it —”

“Just because a wizard doesn’t use Dark Magic doesn’t mean he can’t, Miss Pennyfeather,” snaps Professor Binns. “I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore —”

“But maybe you’ve got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn’t —” begins Dean Thomas, but Professor Binns has had enough.

“That will do,” he cries sharply. “It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!”

And within five minutes, the class has sunk back into its usual torpor. I pull out an extra sheet of parchment, and enchant my drawing to begin. I pass the sheet over to Harry who I share a desk with, and we begin playing our traditional wizarding hangman game.

* * *

 

“I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony,” Ron tells Harry, Hermione, and me as we fight our way through the teeming corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off our bags before dinner. “But I never knew he started all this pure-blood stuff. I wouldn’t be in his House if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in Slytherin, I’d’ve got the train straight back home. . . .”

Hermione nods fervently, but Harry doesn’t say anything. I give my best friend an odd look. As we are shunted along in the throng, Colin Creevey goes past.

“Hiya, Harry!”

“Hullo, Colin,” says Harry automatically.

“Harry — Harry — a boy in my class has been saying you’re —” But Colin is so small he can’t fight against the tide of people bearing him towards the Great Hall; they hear him squeak, “See you, Harry!” and he is gone.

“What’s a boy in his class saying about you?” Hermione wonders.

“That I’m Slytherin’s heir, I expect,” says Harry.

“People here’ll believe anything,” spits Ron in disgust. The crowd thins and we are able to climb the next staircase without difficulty.

“D’you really think there’s a Chamber of Secrets?” Ron asks Hermione.

“I don’t know,” she says, frowning. “Dumbledore couldn’t cure Mrs. Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be — well — human.”

As she speaks, we turn a corner and find ourselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack has happened. We stop and look. The scene is just as it had been that night, except that there is no stiff cat hanging from the torch bracket, and an empty chair stands against the wall bearing the message “The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened.”

“That’s where Filch has been keeping guard,” Ron mutters. We look at each other. The corridor is deserted.

“Can’t hurt to have a poke around,” says Harry, dropping his bag and getting to his hands and knees so that he can crawl along, searching for clues.

“Scorch marks!” he says. “Here — and here —”

“Come and look at this!” cries Hermione. “This is funny. . . .” I move over to the window next to the message on the wall. Hermione is pointing at the topmost pane, where around twenty spiders are scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack. A long, silvery thread is dangling like a rope, as though they have all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

“Have you ever seen spiders act like that?” asks Hermione wonderingly.

“No,” I say, “have you, Ron? Ron?” I look over my shoulder. Ron is standing well back and seems to be fighting the impulse to run.

“What’s up?” asks Harry.

“I — don’t — like — spiders,” stutters Ron tensely.

“I never knew that,” says Hermione, looking at Ron in surprise. “You’ve used spiders in Potions loads of times. . . .”

“I don’t mind them dead,” mutters Ron, who iss carefully looking anywhere but at the window. I put my hand over my mouth to try and stop the laugh the wants to burst forth. “I just don’t like the way they move. . . .”

Hermione giggles. “It’s not funny,” growls Ron, fiercely. “If you must know, when I was three, Fred turned my — my teddy bear into a great big filthy spider because I broke his toy broomstick. . . . You wouldn’t like them either if you’d been holding your bear and suddenly it had too many legs and . . .”

He breaks off, shuddering. Hermione is obviously still trying not to laugh, while I let out a short snort. Feeling we had better get off the subject, Harry says, “Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone’s mopped it up.”

“It was about here,” I say, recovering myself to walk a few paces past Filch’s chair and point. “Level with this door.”

I reach for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdraw my hand. I know what’s behind this door. “What’s the matter?” asks Harry.

“Can’t go in there,” says Ron gruffly looking at the placard on the door. “That’s a girls’ toilet.”

“Oh, Ron, there won’t be anyone in there,” says Hermione, standing up and coming over. She gives me a sharp look for being such a baby about not wanting to go into the bathroom.

“Mione…” I whine.

“That’s Moaning Myrtle’s place. Come on, let’s have a look.” Hermione explains. And ignoring the large OUT OF ORDER sign, she opens the door. It is the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom I have ever set foot in. Under a large, cracked, and spotted mirror is a row of chipped sinks. The floor is damp and reflects the dull light given off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders; the wooden doors to the stalls are flaking and scratched and one of them is dangling off its hinges.

Hermione put her fingers to her lips and sets off toward the end stall. When she reaches it she says, “Hello, Myrtle, how are you?”

Harry, Ron, and I go to look. Moaning Myrtle is floating above the tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin.

“This is a girls’ bathroom,” she says, eyeing Ron and Harry suspiciously. “They’re not girls.”

“No,” I agree. “Hermione and I just wanted to show them how — er — nice it is in here.” I wave vaguely at the dirty old mirror and the damp floor.

“You need to learn to lie better.” Harry hisses into my ear. “Ask her if she saw anything,” Harry mouth at Hermione next.

“What are you whispering?” demands Myrtle, staring at him.

“Nothing,” says Harry quickly. “We wanted to ask —”

“I wish people would stop talking behind my back!” says Myrtle, in a voice choked with tears. “I do have feelings, you know, even if I am dead —”

“Myrtle, no one wants to upset you,” says Hermione. “Harry only —”

“No one wants to upset me! That’s a good one!” howls Myrtle. “My life was nothing but misery at this place and now people come along ruining my death!”

“We wanted to ask you if you’ve seen anything funny lately,” I say quickly. “Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween.”

“Did you see anyone near here that night?” asks Harry.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” says Myrtle dramatically. “Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I’m — that I’m —”

“Already dead,” says Ron helpfully. Myrtle gives a tragic sob, rises up in the air, turns over, and dives headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all over them and vanishing from sight, although from the direction of her muffled sobs, she comes to rest somewhere in the U-bend.

Harry and Ron stand with their mouths open, but Hermione shrugs wearily and says, “Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle. . . . Come on, let’s go.” I have barely closed the door on Myrtle’s gurgling sobs when a loud voice makes all four of us jump.

“RON!” Percy Weasley has stopped dead at the head of the stairs, prefect badge agleam, with an expression of complete shock on his face.

“That’s a girls’ bathroom!” he gasps. “What were you — ?”

“Just having a look around,” Ron shrugs. “Clues, you know —” Percy swells in a manner that reminds me forcefully of Mrs. Weasley.

“Get — away — from — there —” Percy barks, striding toward them and starting to bustle them along, flapping his arms. “Don’t you care what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone’s at dinner —”

“Why shouldn’t we be here?” says Ron hotly, stopping short and glaring at Percy. “Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!”

“That’s what I told Ginny,” says Percy fiercely, “but she still seems to think you’re going to be expelled, I’ve never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out, you might think of her, all the first years are thoroughly overexcited by this business —”

“You don’t care about Ginny,” cries Ron, whose ears were now reddening. “You’re just worried I’m going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy —”

“Five points from Gryffindor!” Percy snaps tersely, fingering his prefect badge. “And I hope it teaches you a lesson! No more detective work, or I’ll write to Mum!”

And he strides off, the back of his neck as red as Ron’s ears.

“Wow… and I thought that I had family issues.” I say, wincing slightly from the smack that Ron delivers to my arm. Hermione shakes her head at me exasperatedly, and Harry grins at me behind Ron’s back.

* * *

 

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I choose seats as far as possible from Percy in the common room that night. Ron is still in a very bad temper and keeps blotting his Charms homework. When he reaches absently for his wand to remove the smudges, it ignites the parchment. Fuming almost as much as his homework, Ron slams The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 shut. To Harry’s and my surprise, Hermione follows suit.

“Who can it be, though?” she ponders in a quiet voice, as though continuing a conversation we had just been having. “Who’d want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?”

“Let’s think,” says Ron in mock puzzlement. “Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?” He looks at Hermione. Hermione looks back, unconvincingly.

“If you’re talking about Malfoy —”

“Of course I am!” says Ron. “You heard him — ‘You’ll be next, Mudbloods!’ — come on, you’ve only got to look at his foul rat face to know it’s him —”

“Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?” says Hermione skeptically.

“Look at his family,” says Harry, closing his books, too. “The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin; he’s always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin’s descendants. His father’s definitely evil enough.”

“They could’ve had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!” cries Ron. “Handing it down, father to son. . . .”

“Well,” says Hermione cautiously, “I suppose it’s possible. . . .”

“But how do we prove it?” I ask unconvinced that Malfoy could be that important.

“There might be a way,” says Hermione slowly, dropping her voice still further with a quick glance across the room at Percy. “Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We’d be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect —”

“If, in a month or so, you feel like explaining, you will let us know, won’t you?” grumbles Ron irritably.

“All right,” says Hermione coldly. “What we’d need to do is to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realizing it’s us.”

“But that’s impossible,” Harry says as Ron laughs. I think for a minute, and the light bulb clicks on. Of god… can she please not be thinking about doing what I think she’s thinking about?

“No, it’s not,” says Hermione. “All we’d need would be some Polyjuice Potion.” I let out a silent groan.

“What’s that?” ask Ron and Harry together.

“Seriously, Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago —” I start.

“D’you think we’ve got nothing better to do in Potions than listen to Snape?” mutters Ron.

“It transforms you into somebody else. Think about it! We could change into three of the Slytherins. No one would know it was us. Malfoy would probably tell us anything. He’s probably boasting about it in the Slytherin common room right now, if only we could hear him.” Hermione cries.

“This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me,” says Ron, frowning. “What if we were stuck looking like three of the Slytherins forever?”

“It wears off after a while,” Hermione explains waving her hand impatiently. “But getting hold of the recipe will be very difficult. Snape said it was in a book called Moste Potente Potions and it’s bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library.”

There is only one way to get out a book from the Restricted Section: You need a signed note of permission from a teacher.

“Hard to see why we’d want the book, really,” says Ron, “if we weren’t going to try and make one of the potions.”

“I think,” says Hermione, “that if we made it sound as though we were just interested in the theory, we might stand a chance. . . .”

“Oh, come on, no teacher’s going to fall for that,” says Ron. “They’d have to be really thick. . . .” A big smile crosses my face at that statement.

“What are you thinking Jamie?” Harry asks me, shoving aside his homework to look me full on.

“I know just the teacher that we can ask.” I state, my grin getting wider at the thought. This will be easier than beating Slytherin at Quidditch.


	9. The Rouge Bludger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

9-The Rouge Bludger

 

Since the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart has not brought live creatures to class. Instead, he reads passages from his books to us, and sometimes reenacts some of the more dramatic bits. I usually try not to fall asleep. He usually picks Harry to help him with these reconstructions; so far, Harry has been forced to play a simple Transylvanian villager whom Lockhart has cured of a Babbling Curse, a yeti with a head cold, and a vampire who has been unable to eat anything except lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him.

Harry gets hauled to the front of the class during our very next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, this time acting a werewolf. If he didn’t have a very good reason for keeping Lockhart in a good mood, I’m sure he would have refused to do it.

“Nice loud howl, Harry — exactly — and then, if you’ll believe it, I pounced — like this — slammed him to the floor — thus — with one hand, I managed to hold him down — with my other, I put my wand to his throat — I then screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm — he let out a piteous moan — go on, Harry — higher than that — good — the fur vanished — the fangs shrank — and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective — and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks.”

The bell rings at last and Lockhart gets to his feet. “Homework — compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of Magical Me to the author of the best one!” The class begins to leave and I wish that I can as well. Harry returns to the back of the room where we are waiting.

“Ready?” Harry mutters crossly rubbing out his arm that was wrenched. I pat his shoulder sympathetically.

“Wait till everyone’s gone,” says Hermione nervously. “All right . . .” There’s no way that this plan can’t work with Lockhart’s ego and tiny intelligence.

She approaches Lockhart’s desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand, Harry, Ron, and I right behind her.

“Er — Professor Lockhart?” Hermione stammers (I roll my eyes). “I want to — to get this book out of the library. Just for background reading.” She holds out the piece of paper, her hand shaking slightly. “But the thing is, it’s in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it — I’m sure it would help me understand what you say in Gadding with Ghouls about slow-acting venoms —”

“Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!” crows Lockhart, taking the note from Hermione and smiling widely at her. “Possibly my very favorite book. You enjoyed it?”

“Oh, yes,” says Hermione eagerly. “So clever, the way you trapped that last one with the tea-strainer —”

“Well, I’m sure no one will mind me giving the best student of the year a little extra help,” says Lockhart warmly, and he pulls out an enormous peacock quill. “Yes, nice, isn’t it?” he says, misreading the revolted look on Ron’s and my face. “I usually save it for book signings.”

He scrawls an enormous loopy signature on the note and hands it back to Hermione. “So, Harry,” says Lockhart, while Hermione folds the note with fumbling fingers and slips it into her bag. “Tomorrow’s the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? I hear you’re a useful player. I was a Seeker, too. I was asked to try for the National Squad, but preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still, if ever you feel the need for a little private training, don’t hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on my expertise to less able players. . . .”

Harry makes an indistinct noise in his throat and then hurries off after Ron and Hermione. “You know Professor. I’m on the team as well. Harry isn’t the only member you know.” I remind him. Lockhart looks at me for a moment then shrugs his shoulders.

“I don’t have time for people who waste away what little fame they have left Miss Pendragon. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to get ready for another class.” With that he swooshes off to his office. I shake my head in disbelief. What a git. What a giant git!

I hurry out of the classroom to catch up with my friends. I find them in the hallway still. “I don’t believe it,” Harry says as the four of us examine the signature on the note. “He didn’t even look at the book we wanted.”

“That’s because he’s a brainless git,” says Ron and I high five him. “But who cares, we’ve got what we needed —”

“He is not a brainless git,” says Hermione shrilly as we half run to the library.

“Just because he said you were the best student of the year —” We drop our voices as we enter the muffled stillness of the library. Madam Pince, the librarian, is a thin, irritable woman who looks like an underfed vulture.

“Moste Potente Potions?” she repeats suspiciously, trying to take the note from Hermione; but Hermione won’t let go.

“I was wondering if I could keep it,” she says breathlessly. Now I’m really going to be sick.

“Oh, come on,” says Ron, wrenching it from her grasp and thrusting it at Madam Pince. “We’ll get you another autograph. Lockhart’ll sign anything if it stands still long enough.”

Madam Pince holds the note up to the light, as though determined to detect a forgery, but it passes the test. She stalks away between the lofty shelves and returns several minutes later carrying a large and moldy-looking book. Hermione puts it carefully into her bag and we leave, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty.

Five minutes later, we are barricaded in Moaning Myrtle’s out-of-order bathroom once again. Hermione has steamrollered Ron’s objections by pointing out that it was the last place anyone in their right minds would go, so we are guaranteed some privacy. Moaning Myrtle is crying noisily in her stall, but we ignore her, and she ignores us.

Hermione opens Moste Potente Potions carefully, and the four of us bend over the damp-spotted pages. It is clear from a glance why it belongs in the Restricted Section. Some of the potions have effects almost too gruesome to think about, and there are some very unpleasant illustrations, which include a man who seems to have been turned inside out and a witch sprouting several extra pairs of arms out of her head.

“Here it is,” cries Hermione excitedly as she finds the page titled The Polyjuice Potion. It is decorated with drawings of people halfway through transforming into other people. I shiver hoping the artist has imagined the looks of intense pain on their faces.

“This is the most complicated potion I’ve ever seen,” mutters Hermione as we scan the recipe. “Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass,” she murmurs, running her finger down the list of ingredients. “Well, they’re easy enough, they’re in the student store-cupboard, we can help ourselves. . . . Oooh, look, powdered horn of a bicorn — don’t know where we’re going to get that — shredded skin of a boomslang — that’ll be tricky, too — and of course a bit of whoever we want to change into.”

“Excuse me?” splutters Ron sharply. “What d’you mean, a bit of whoever we’re changing into? I’m drinking nothing with Crabbe’s toenails in it —” Hermione continues as though she hasn’t heard him.

“We don’t have to worry about that yet, though, because we add those bits last. . . .” Ron turns, speechless, to Harry, who has another worry.

“D’you realize how much we’re going to have to steal, Hermione? Shredded skin of a boomslang, that’s definitely not in the students’ cupboard. What’re we going to do, break into Snape’s private stores? I don’t know if this is a good idea. . . .”

Hermione slams the book with a snap. “Well, if you three are going to chicken out, fine,” she says. There are now bright pink patches on her cheeks and her eyes are brighter than usual. “I don’t want to break rules, you know. I think threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. But if you don’t want to find out if it’s Malfoy, I’ll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand the book back in —”

“I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be persuading us to break rules,” says Ron amazedly. “All right, we’ll do it. But no toenails, okay?”

“How long will it take to make, anyway?” says Harry as Hermione, looking happier, opens the book again.

“Well, since the fluxweed is got to be picked at the full moon and the lacewings have to be stewed for twenty-one days . . . I’d say it’d be ready in about a month, if we can get all the ingredients.” I feel my mouth drop open in shock.

“A month?” says Ron. “Malfoy could have attacked half the Muggle-borns in the school by then!” But Hermione’s eyes narrow dangerously again, and he adds swiftly, “But it’s the best plan we’ve got, so full steam ahead, I say.” I shake my head vehemently. There’s no way that I’m going along with this plan.

“No.” I say taking a few steps back. The three of them turn to me with incredulous looks on their faces.

“What do you mean no? The muggleborns are at risk! Malfoy will stop at nothing!” Ron cries angrily throwing his arms out wide. I take another step back reeling from the angry, hurt, and confused looks that they are giving me.

“There’s no way in the world that Malfoy would ever be smart enough to do this, even if he did have his father. Besides Malfoy’s a coward. He can’t even walk down the hall without his goons Crabbe and Goyle.” I explain, trying to make them see reason. I can tell by the looks on their faces though, that they don’t understand.

“Let’s just forget about it for now. There’s still a month before we’re going to be able to do anything. We can revisit this subject later.” Harry decides at last, shooting everyone level looks. Slowly the three of us nod our heads in agreement, and we start for the door.

However, while Hermione is checking that the coast is clear for us to leave the bathroom, Ron mutters to Harry, “It’ll be a lot less hassle if you can just knock Malfoy off his broom tomorrow.” I shake my head at that, but as I’m about to follow them out of the bathroom, a translucent shape pops up in front of me.

I reel back a few steps to put some distance between the icy ghost and me. I can still see tear tracks on her face from when she was sobbing earlier. “What do you want?” I ask her, trying to keep the wobble out of my voice. A creepy smile crosses Myrtle’s face, as she floats there in front of me, putting her hand to her chin like she’s pondering.

“Oh yes, I remember now. I wasn’t sure that I believed it at first but it seems like my suspicions are true.” She tells me. I have a feeling of dread wash over me, at the triumphant look on her face.

“Come on now, just say what you have to say. My friends will come looking soon enough.” I tell her starting to get mildly irritated now. She cackles that shrill laugh of hers, and I feel a shiver roll down my spine.

“Oh Jamie, still as foolish as ever. Fine, I’ll tell you. You have a right to be so terrified of what is going on at Hogwarts this year Jamie. I’m not sure what it is, but in all my years here, I’ve never seen the Headmaster as worried as he is now.” Myrtle comments flicking her gaze down to her nails. She starts picking at them. “I’d watch out Jamie your friends might not agree with you much on this cause.” She warns me.

I swallow the lump that has formed in my throat. “Why are you doing this Myrtle? Why bother talking to me?” I demand. For a second the harsh look on Myrtle’s face softens, and I see a brief glint of sadness.

“I’m repaying a favor for an old friend… you’re the first one in a long time who’s been in need of help…” With that Myrtle lets out a wail as the tears start to fall again. Okay now I’m more confused than ever. She rises into the air, and sails into the toilet.

“Wait you had a friend?” I call out after her. I get no response only the muffled sobs of a lonely ghost. With that I shake my head and finally push out into the corridor, after I make sure that the coast is clear. When I get out though, I realize after a few minutes of looking though, that my friends haven’t bothered to come looking for me.

* * *

 

My luck just seemed to be terrible these days. Nothing is going the way it should. First my friends abandon me over a disagreement, and then a crazy ghost tells me that I should be scared about what’s going on in Hogwarts. Now, to just make my day that much worse, who do I run into in the hallways?

“Watch where you’re going Pendragon. Did they forget to teach you manners in the orphanage along with Potter?” Draco Malfoy hisses, as we collide into each other in the near empty corridor. I stumble back a step, and glower at him tiredly. I really don’t feel like having to deal with Malfoy today.

“Save it Malfoy I’m not in the mood.” I mutter, pushing past him with my head down. Before I can get for though, I feel a hand on my arm. I freeze for a second and slowly turn around to see who has hold of me. Malfoy’s hand grips my arm tightly but not enough to actually hurt me. “You can take your hand off me anytime now. Do you remember what happened the last time you angered me?” I ask him.

Malfoy drops my arm like I’d burned him. “Sorry… I just thought that you looked like you could need a friend.” He tells me. My head is spinning. Is this some kind of joke? Did opposites day come early this year? Malfoy is being dare I say it… nice? I think this is a phenomena that is just too odd to even conjure up with a spell.

“You think that I need a friend? You’re trying to be nice?” I say incredulously. Malfoy’s cheeks tint pink, and he shuffles his feet.

“What I can’t be nice to you Pendragon? Doesn’t your little gang believe in second chances and all that crap?” Malfoy demands. I nod my head, but shake it soon after.

“Yeah but that usually only applies to people with souls. You’ve demonstrated on countless occasions that you don’t have a heart or a soul.” I tell him. Malfoy’s eyes narrow into slits and he takes a step closer to me.

“You don’t know the first thing about me Pendragon.” He growls lowly. I take a step closer to him as well.

“You don’t know the first thing about me either Malfoy. I suggest that you keep walking away. We wouldn’t want to have a repeat of our last encounter now would we?” I say. Before I realize what’s happening Malfoy is grinning at me, and backs away a step.

“I knew that you felt it too Pendragon. I knew that you liked me.” He smirks. With that Malfoy spins around and saunters back in the direction that he was originally going. I’m left standing there with a dumbfounded look on my face. What was that just now?

I shake my head, and start wiping down my robes feeling suddenly dirty. I can’t believe that Malfoy thinks that I like, him that would only happen in my darkest of nightmares. With a shudder, I start back for the Gryffindor tower. I need to go take a shower maybe two.

* * *

 

I wake early on Saturday morning and lay for a while thinking about the coming Quidditch match. I am nervous, mainly at the thought of what Wood will say if Gryffindor loses, but also at the idea of facing a team mounted on the fastest racing brooms gold can buy. I had never wanted to beat Slytherin so badly.

After half an hour of lying here with my insides churning, I get up, get dressed, and go down to breakfast early, where I find the rest of the Gryffindor team huddled at the long, empty table, all looking uptight and not speaking much. I slip into a seat next to Harry, and he gives me a solemn look. If anyone wants to win more than Wood or me it’s Harry. He still has his own personal vendetta to feed. Though after what happened the last time I met with Malfoy, I’m happy to allow Harry to knock him off his broom.

My friends and I have made up. They explained that they didn’t abandon me they just thought that I needed some alone time. I didn’t tell them about my run ins with Moaning Myrtle and Malfoy yet. I just felt like it wasn’t the time. I rather have all the information before going and worrying my friends for no reason.

As eleven o’clock approaches, the whole school starts to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It is a muggy sort of day with a hint of thunder in the air. Ron and Hermione come hurrying over to wish Harry and me good luck as he enters the locker rooms. The team pulls on our scarlet Gryffindor robes, then sits down to listen to Wood’s usual pre-match pep talk.

“Slytherin has better brooms than us,” he begins. “No point denying it. But we’ve got better people on our brooms. We’ve trained harder than they have, we’ve been flying in all weathers —” (“Too true,” mutters George Weasley. “I haven’t been properly dry since August”) “— and we’re going to make them rue the day they let that little bit of slime, Malfoy, buy his way onto their team.” Amen to that. Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turns to Harry.

“It’ll be down to you, Harry, to show them that a Seeker has to have something more than a rich father. Get to that Snitch before Malfoy or die trying, Harry, because we’ve got to win today, we’ve got to.” Okay now that’s taking it a little far.

“So no pressure, Harry,” says Fred, winking at him.

“Good luck mate.” I tell him. As we walk out onto the pitch, a roar of noise greets us; mainly cheers, because Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff are anxious to see Slytherin beaten, but the Slytherins in the crowd make their boos and hisses heard, too.

Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asks Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they do, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.

“On my whistle,” says Madam Hooch. “Three . . . two . . . one . . .” With a roar from the crowd to speed us upward, the fourteen players rise toward the leaden sky. Katie manages to get control of the Quaffle but as soon as she does, she’s rammed into by one of the Slytherin players, and she loses possession of the Quaffle. I grit my teeth, and shoot after the player with the quaffle now.

It doesn’t seem to matter though. He always seems to be a few feet ahead of me. I growl and curse Malfoy for seems like the millionth time this past week. I hear a commotion from the crowd, and I look up to see Harry streaking around the air with a bludger shooting after him. Fred and George are trying to deflect the bludger away, but every time they hit it, it just keeps coming back.

I pry my gaze back to what’s happening in front of me, in time to intercept a pass between two Slytherins. Before I know what’s happened though, there’s a sickening pain in the back of my head, and I hear a crack distantly. My grip loosens on my broom, and I feel my grip slip off my wet broom. When did it start raining?

I can dimly hear the horrified shouts of the crowd, as I fall through the air. A whistle sounds, and that’s all that I’m able to understand before my vision blacks out, but before I’m gone I manage to see a bright blue light surround me.

* * *

 

I come around again to the sound of distressed and disgruntled voices. I blinked a few times, and finally managed to focus in on what’s happening in the cot next to me. My head shoots a sharp pain through my temple to remind me that I’m still in a state of unrest.

“You should have come straight to me!” Madame Pomfrey cries. “I can mend bones in a second — but growing them back —” The voices are coming from the other side of the privacy curtain that has been set up for us.

“You will be able to, won’t you?” replies Harry desperately.

“I’ll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful,” states Madam Pomfrey grimly. “You’ll have to stay the night. . . .”

“Jamie! You’re awake!” Hermione’s shrill cry causes me to wince, and roll my gaze to find Hermione sitting by my bedside with a relieved look on her face.

“Is that Jamie? She must have fell 50 feet! Bloody awesome!” Ron cries from behind the curtain.

“Jamie are you all right? I didn’t see you fall, but I was told it was bad…” Harry starts but he’s cut off by a huffy Madame Pomfrey.

“Will you sit still? Miss Pendragon will be perfectly fine! Only a skull fracture it will be all healed by the morning, now sit still and behave Mr. Potter!” She cries. I can hear a few disgruntled grumbles from the other side of the sheet, and a small grin comes to my face.

“I’m okay… I think. I just have a massive headache. I feel like that troll of Quirrel’s last year had actually been able to brain me.” I reply.

“I would imagine so. Flint smashed the other bludger into the back of your head Jamie. There was no way you could have seen it, and Fred and George were too busy protecting Harry to help.” Hermione tells me tearfully. I squeeze her hand, and Ron and Hermione tell me about the bludger and how Harry ended up catching the snitch but getting his arm broken by the bludger.

Then Ron explained about how Lockhart had magiked away all of the bones in Harry’s arm. I grimace just thinking about what had happened. I know that Lockhart’s a dunce but I didn’t think that he was that daft.

“How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione, eh?” Ron calls through the curtain. “If Harry wanted deboning he would have asked for one.”

“Anyone can make a mistake,” says Hermione. “And it doesn’t hurt anymore, does it, Harry?” She looks positively grumpy at the turn of the conversation.

“No,” says Harry. “But it doesn’t do anything else either.” Madame Pomfrey pulls the curtain away, and I’m able to see Harry and Ron for the first time since I’ve woken up. Harry winces looking at the white bandage wrapped around my head, that’s red at the back.

“You look terrible.” He winces. I roll my eyes at him, while looking at his bundle of skin that used to be his arm.

“Well you aren’t that better off boy wonder.” I reply. Harry grins at me, and I return his grin in turn. Madame Pomfrey sets down a large bottle of something called Skele-Grow.

“You’re in for a rough night,” she says, pouring out a steaming beakerful and handing it to Harry. “Regrowing bones is a nasty business.” Boy am I glad that I’m not the one taking that. Harry splutters as he takes the potion, and Hermione and Ron help him get some water down after that.

“We won, though,” says Ron, a grin breaking across his face. “That was some catch you made. Malfoy’s face . . . he looked ready to kill. . . .”

“I want to know how he fixed that Bludger,” mutters Hermione darkly. Wait Malfoy fixed the bludger to follow Harry around? My head throbs, and I close my eyes. I honestly don’t know what to believe anymore.

“We can add that to the list of questions we’ll ask him when we’ve taken the Polyjuice Potion,” says Harry, sinking back onto his pillows. He shoots me a worried look. “I hope it tastes better than this stuff. . . .”

“If it’s got bits of Slytherins in it? You’ve got to be joking,” says Ron. The door of the hospital wing bursts open at that moment. Filthy and soaking wet, the rest of the Gryffindor team has arrived to see Harry and me.

“Unbelievable flying, Harry,” crows George. “I’ve just seen Marcus Flint yelling at Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch on top of his head and not noticing. Malfoy didn’t seem too happy.”

“Are you okay Jamie? You took quite a crack to the head there.” Angelina tells me placing a hand on my shoulder. I smile up at her and Katie who have worried looks on their faces.

“Just dandy. The only thing that I really need to see now is Flint sporting a bruised ego and maybe an eye.” I tell them. With that the two older girls grin and shake their heads at me.

They have brought cakes, sweets, and bottles of pumpkin juice; they gather around Harry’s and my bed and are just getting started on what promised to be a good party when Madam Pomfrey comes storming over, shouting, “These kids needs rest, he’s got thirty-three bones to regrow, and she has an open skull fracture! Out! OUT!”

And Harry and I are left alone, with nothing to distract us from the pains in our bodies.

* * *

 

I was having a good dream about my fire-breathing kitten setting Malfoy’s pants on fire when I’m woken by a yelp from Harry’s bed next to me. I shoot up from my bed wincing at the pain that radiates from the back of my head. I look over to Harry’s bed and I’m shocked to see a creature sitting on top of his chest. It is small with a large bald hear and big pointy ears that droop over. It’s wearing a ratty pillowcase for clothes.

The house elf happens to be sponging Harry’s forehead at the moment. I’m shocked to say the least at first but then it clicks. This must be Dobby, the house elf that Harry was talking about back at the Burrow. “Get off!” Harry says loudly, and then, “Dobby!” The house-elf’s goggling tennis ball eyes are peering at Harry through the darkness. A single tear was running down his long, pointed nose.

“Harry Potter came back to school,” he whispers miserably. “Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter. Ah sir, why didn’t you heed Dobby? Why didn’t Harry Potter go back home when he missed the train?” Harry heaves himself up on his pillows and pushes Dobby’s sponge away.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks. “And how did you know I missed the train?” I glance at Harry and his gaze shifts to me. Dobby catches on, and soon I’m met with the house-elf’s saddened eyes.

“Mistress Pendragon it’s a pleasure to meet you. You and Master Pendragon are well known by house-elves as being kind wizards.” Dobby tells me with a shaky bow.

“Of course Dobby, but what about what Harry asked?” I demand. Dobby’s lip trembled and Harry is seized by a sudden suspicion.

“It was you!” he says slowly. “You stopped the barrier from letting us through!”

“Indeed yes, sir,” says Dobby, nodding his head vigorously, ears flapping. “Dobby hid and watched for Harry Potter and sealed the gateway and Dobby had to iron his hands afterward” — he shows Harry and me ten long, bandaged fingers — “but Dobby didn’t care, sir, for he thought Harry Potter was safe, and never did Dobby dream that Harry Potter would get to school another way!”

He is rocking backward and forward, shaking his ugly head. “Dobby was so shocked when he heard Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts, he let his master’s dinner burn! Such a flogging Dobby never had, sir. . . .” I shake my head slowly, and sink back into my cushion.

I got into all this trouble with my brother, all because of a house-elf who wants to protect my best friend. Why does my life have to be so complicated? I can’t just feel angry at him now can I?

Harry slumps back onto his pillows. “You nearly got Ron, Jamie, and me expelled,” he says fiercely. “You’d better get lost before my bones come back, Dobby, or I might strangle you.” Dobby smiles weakly.

“Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Dobby gets them five times a day at home.”

He blows his nose on a corner of the filthy pillowcase he wears, looking so pathetic that I felt the rest of my anger ebb away.

“Why d’you wear that thing, Dobby?” Harry asks curiously.

“This, sir?” says Dobby, plucking at the pillowcase. “’Tis a mark of the house-elf’s enslavement, sir. Dobby can only be free if his masters present him with clothes, sir. The family is careful not to pass Dobby even a sock, sir, for then he would be free to leave their house forever.”

Dobby mops his bulging eyes and says suddenly, “Harry Potter must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make —”

“Your Bludger?” says Harry, anger rising once more. “What d’you mean, your Bludger? You made that Bludger try and kill me?”

“Not kill you, sir, never kill you!” says Dobby, shocked. “Dobby wants to save Harry Potter’s life! Better sent home, grievously injured, than remain here, sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter hurt enough to be sent home!”

“Oh, is that all?” said Harry angrily. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why you wanted me sent home in pieces?”

“Ah, if Harry Potter only knew!” Dobby groans, more tears dripping onto his ragged pillowcase. “If he knew what he means to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, we dregs of the magical world! Dobby remembers how it was when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of his powers, sir! We house-elves were treated like “vermin, sir! Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, sir,” he admits, drying his face on the pillowcase. “But mostly, sir, life has improved for my kind since you triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry Potter survived, and the Dark Lord’s power was broken, and it was a new dawn, sir, and Harry Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the dark days would never end, sir. . . .  And now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more —” Whoa, wait Chamber of Secrets is open?

Dobby freezes, horrorstruck, then grabs Harry’s water jug from his bedside table and cracks it over his own head, toppling out of sight. A second later, he crawls back onto the bed, cross-eyed, muttering, “Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby . . .”

“So there is a Chamber of Secrets?” I whisper. “And — did you say it’s been opened before? Tell me, Dobby!”

Harry seizes the elf’s bony wrist as Dobby’s hand inches toward the water jug. “But I’m not Muggle-born — how can I be in danger from the Chamber?” Harry questions him.

“Ah, sir, ask no more, ask no more of poor Dobby,” stammers the elf, his eyes huge in the dark. “Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they happen — go home, Harry Potter, go home. Harry Potter must not meddle in this, sir, ’tis too dangerous —”

“Who is it, Dobby?” Harry says, keeping a firm hold on Dobby’s wrist to stop him from hitting himself with the water jug again. “Who’s opened it? Who opened it last time?”

“Dobby can’t, sir, Dobby can’t, Dobby mustn’t tell!” squeals the elf. “Go home, Harry Potter, go home!”

“I’m not going anywhere!” says Harry fiercely. “One of my best friends is Muggle-born; she’ll be first in line if the Chamber really has been opened —”

“Please Dobby this is important we need to help the muggleborns.” I tell him.

“Harry Potter risks his own life for his friends!” moans Dobby in a kind of miserable ecstasy. “So noble! So valiant! But he must save himself, he must, Harry Potter must not —”

Dobby suddenly freezes, his bat ears quivering. Harry and I hear it, too. There are footsteps coming down the passageway outside. “Dobby must go!” breaths the elf, terrified. There is a loud crack, and Harry’s fist is suddenly closed on thin air. We both slump back into bed to pretend like nothing happened.

Next moment, Dumbledore is backing into the dormitory, wearing a long woolly dressing gown and a nightcap. He is carrying one end of what looks like a statue. Professor McGonagall appears a second later, carrying its feet. Together, they heave it onto a bed.

“Get Madam Pomfrey,” whispers Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall hurries past the end of my bed out of sight. Harry lay quite still, pretending to be asleep next to me, and I do the same. I hear urgent voices, and then Professor McGonagall sweeps back into view, closely followed by Madam Pomfrey, who is pulling a cardigan on over her nightdress. I hear a sharp intake of breath.

“What happened?” Madam Pomfrey whispers to Dumbledore, bending over the statue on the bed.

“Another attack,” replies Dumbledore. “Minerva found him on the stairs.”

“There was a bunch of grapes next to him,” says Professor McGonagall. “We think he was trying to sneak up here to visit Potter.” I have to stop the sharp intake of breath that I want to take. Slowly and carefully, I raise up a few inches so I can look at the statue on the bed. A ray of moonlight lay across its staring face.

It is Colin Creevey. His eyes are wide and his hands are stuck up in front of him, holding his camera. “Petrified?” whispers Madam Pomfrey. I fight the sting of tears that I’m getting.

“Yes,” says Professor McGonagall. “But I shudder to think . . . If Albus hadn’t been on the way downstairs for hot chocolate — who knows what might have —”

The three of them stare down at Colin. Then Dumbledore leans forward and wrenches the camera out of Colin’s rigid grip.

“You don’t think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?” asks Professor McGonagall eagerly. Dumbledore doesn’t answer. He opens the back of the camera.

“Good gracious!” says Madam Pomfrey. A jet of steam hisses out of the camera. Four beds away I catch the acrid smell of burnt plastic.

“Melted,” sighs Madam Pomfrey wonderingly. “All melted . . .”

“What does this mean, Albus?” Professor McGonagall asks urgently.

“It means,” says Dumbledore gravely, “that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again.” Madam Pomfrey claps a hand to her mouth. Professor McGonagall stares at Dumbledore.

“But, Albus . . . surely . . . who?”

“The question is not who,” says Dumbledore, his eyes on Colin. “The question is, how. . . .” And from what I can see of Professor McGonagall’s shadowy face, she doesn’t understand this any better than he did. When the three move closer to the door, I manage to turn my head to look at Harry. I meet his wide eyed gaze with mine. Now there’s a stony resolve in them. We’re going to figure this out no matter what. I guess Malfoy’s as good a place as any to start.

This is personal now.


	10. The Dueling Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

10-The Dueling Club

 

On Sunday morning I woke up feeling much better physically, except the mild headache that was just enough to be annoying. Once Harry managed to pull out of sleep next to me Madame Pomfrey came bustling over to the two of us to give us breakfast. I keep sneaking looks over at the bed where I know Colin Creevey is at. He was plaguing my dreams last night.

I just keep picturing his enthusiastic face stalking Harry everywhere. Yes the kid did need to learn some boundary issues, but he was still young. Colin didn’t deserve what happened to him. That’s for sure. Madame Pomfrey starts checking over the three of us to see if we’re okay. As soon as Madame Pomfrey is done checking Harry over, we’re ready to go.

We really have to go tell Hermione and Ron what we just witnessed last night. “I still can’t believe that Dobby would do that to you. I mean if he was trying to protect you you’d think that he’d at least want you to still be alive in the end.” I comment hopping onto the staircase just as it started to move.

Harry huffs discontentedly beside me. I can tell that he’s taking this badly. “You know I don’t think that I’ve had a single normal day since I’ve become a wizard Jamie. Not one.” Harry remarks offhandedly. I wince. Great now Harry has finally gone off his rocker. I’m never going to get some peace now.

“Well we are wizards and witches. Magic and mayhem happens to come pretty much hand in hand you know.” I reply stepping off the staircase after him. Harry gives a grumpy grunt in return and I scowl. This boy is just trying to get my headache to grow.

We approach the Fat Lady and she looks at us with keen interest. “Another spectacular game! I’m sorry about the injuries dears but I get to lord it over Lord Farqhart on the seventh floor. That old bat never shuts up about how his house is superior. Well guess who has the upper hand now!” She bellows.

Her shout startles many other paintings. Harry quickly utters the password not wanting to make a bigger scene then the one that we already have. “Do you think that we’re in trouble Harry… I mean the Chamber of Secrets… that’s not exactly a happy place.” I say softly.

My friend turns around and looks me in the eye. “Everything will be all right Jamie. We’ll figure this out just like we figured this out last time.” Harry tells me giving my hand a squeeze. I shoot him a wobbly smile and nod my head in understanding. We both look around the common room only to find that its empty. With a sigh we trudge back out to go search for our friends in a library.

If they’re in there then Ron must have been forced against his will to go. Hermione does get this rather scary look on her face when it comes to homework though. I swear she seems to have the same power as the Petrificus totalus spell. We struck out on the library as well I get the feeling that Harry is becoming put off by the fact that we haven’t been able to yet locate our friends.

As we exit the library we happen the run into Percy Weasley quite literally. He looks much happier then he has been. “Oh, hello, Harry,” he says. “Excellent flying yesterday, really excellent. Gryffindor has just taken the lead for the House Cup — you earned fifty points!”

“You haven’t seen Ron or Hermione, have you?” asks Harry.

“No, I haven’t,” replies Percy, his smile fading. “I hope Ron’s not in another girls’ toilet. . . .” I can’t help but smirk at that a little bit remembering the outburst between Ron and his brother the last time that Percy had come across us exiting the bathroom. Harry blushes knowing that he too was in there. With that Percy bids us farewell and escapes into his haven the library.

“Come on I know where they are. Come to think of it we should have thought of there first.” Harry tells me. I sigh. Creepy mopey ghost’s bathroom here we come.

* * *

 

After nearly killing ourselves throwing an experimental firework of Fred and George’s down one hallway as a diversion to distract Filch, Harry and I managed to slip into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. I’m not too terribly fond of the idea after the last way that she treated me. She wasn’t as despicably horrifying as she usually was, which is scarier than if she was actually being nice.

I can hear they’re voices from behind the one and only occupied and locked stall. “This is the prefects! 100 points from Gryffindor!” I call out jauntily. I hear metal clang and litany of muttered curses come from Ron, and Harry smacks my shoulder. I happen to notice the grin on his face though. The stall door swings open revealing the scowling face of Ron, and Hermione catching her breath with her hand over her heart.

“Merlin Jamie! That’s not funny at all. You could seriously have given me a heart attack. What if something had gone wrong with the potion! You could end up with a monkey’s tail for the rest of your life!” Hermione exclaims mellow dramatically.

“Well then people will be positively green with envy over the awesomeness of my tail, and wish to have one of their very own. I will rock that style.” I declare flippantly. Ron chuckles while Harry snorts, and Hermione lets out a bemused giggle.

“Enough messing around.” Harry says seriously, ending the lighthearted mood with a single blow. Hermione questions the states of our injuries before we go on though, and after thoroughly assuring the girl that we were indeed okay we get back to business.

It amused me to no end that the old cauldron was placed on the toilet seat with a fire beneath it in the bowl. I knew that Hermione was great with waterproof fires but this one was brilliant. I was going to have to remember this for a prank another day. Harry and I start to explain about Colin but Hermione cuts us off.

“We know, well practically the whole school knows. I swear no one knows how to keep a secret around this place.” She tells us sadly.

“The sooner we get a confession out of Malfoy, the better,” snarls Ron. “D’you know what I think? He was in such a foul temper after the Quidditch match, he took it out on Colin.” I groan. Why do we have to go down this road again?

“There’s something else,” Harry says, watching Hermione tear bundles of knotgrass and throw them into the potion. “Dobby came to visit me in the middle of the night.”

Ron and Hermione look up, amazed. Harry tells them everything Dobby has told him — or hasn’t told him. Hermione and Ron listen with their mouths open.

“The Chamber of Secrets has been opened before?” Hermione squeaks. I can’t tell who’s more frightened at the idea Hermione or me.

“This settles it,” says Ron in a triumphant voice. “Lucius Malfoy must’ve opened the Chamber when he was at school here and now he’s told dear old Draco how to do it. It’s obvious. Wish Dobby’d told you what kind of monster’s in there, though. I want to know how come nobody’s noticed it sneaking around the school.”

I feel my teeth start to grind. “Oh come off it! We don’t even know if Malfoy is the one behind all of this. I still say he doesn’t have the brain power or the guts to pull this off.” I interject. Ron glares at me, and Hermione gives an understanding nod. Harry just shakes his head.

“We know Jamie and you have a point, but right now he’s our best guess, and we just can’t sit around here and wait for the monster to strike again. What if it had been Hermione last night?” Harry demands locking onto my gaze. I grit my teeth and glance over to my best girl friend.

I wouldn’t know what to do without Hermione; she makes living in our dorm possible. “I would go hunt down the prat who did it and make them change her back, then I’d think about cursing them.” I say honestly in a mumbled voice. I advert my eyes so that I don’t have to look any of them in the face.

I feel a squeeze to my hand and glance up to see Hermione giving me a soft smile. I give her a shaky one back. I don’t think that I could go on with losing another friend.   “Maybe it can make itself invisible,” Hermione says, prodding leeches to the bottom of the cauldron. “Or maybe it can disguise itself — pretend to be a suit of armor or something — I’ve read about Chameleon Ghouls —”

“You read too much, Hermione,” Ron groans, pouring dead lacewings on top of the leeches. He crumples up the empty lacewing bag and looked at us. “So you’re telling me that Dobby is the one that closed the gate at the station and sent the rouge bludger at you? I think that I will strangle him the next time I see him.” Ron says nodding his head.

“That’s not even the worrisome part if Dobby doesn’t stop trying to save Harry there won’t be any Harry left to save.” I finish gravely.

* * *

 

The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and is now lying as though dead in the hospital wing has spread through the entire school by Monday morning. The air is suddenly thick with rumor and suspicion. The first years are now moving around the castle in tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone.

Ginny Weasley, who sits next to Colin Creevey in Charms, is distraught, but I feel that Fred and George are going the wrong way about cheering her up. They are taking turns covering themselves with fur or boils and jumping out at her from behind statues. They only stop when Percy, apoplectic with rage, tells them he is going to write to Mrs. Weasley and tell her Ginny is having nightmares.

Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in talismans, amulets, and other protective devices is sweeping the school. Neville Longbottom bought a large, evil-smelling green onion, a pointed purple crystal, and a rotting newt tail before the other Gryffindor second years pointed out that he is in no danger; he is a pureblood, and therefore unlikely to be attacked.

“They went for Filch first,” Neville says, his round face fearful. “And everyone knows I’m almost a Squib.” I feel bad for Neville he shouldn’t be thinking of himself that way, but I don’t have anyway to prove that unfortunately. So instead I try and talk him out of earing the foul smelling green onion. He refuses though, and I can’t help but give up for I might have passed out if I had stood next to him for a second longer.

* * *

 

The second week of December finally rolled around, like usual McGonagall came around with the sign up sheet for those students who’d be staying in the castle that year. Kingsley is on a mission and we won’t be seeing him for the holiday once again. I was disappointed in that. I wasn’t so sure how my holiday was going to turn out this year, my guardian was busy and my brother still wasn’t speaking to me.

I’ve been finding it harder lately to keep a positive outlook on things lately. The castle still has whispers of fear running through it, and with all the hostility that’s risen in its wake it’s really depressing. At least this holiday Harry, Ron, and Hermione will be spending it with me. We all have to be here for the Polyjuice potion.

One thing that definitely struck me as suspicious is that Malfoy is staying in the castle this winter as well. I know from experience that the Malfoy’s throw a big holiday party every year. We were forced to attend one year, and after that whole debacle Kingsley told us that we were never going back again. Not that I minded terribly, Malfoy was a prat even back then.

Of course with him remaining in the castle that has my friends’ guard’s up. Ron was going on and on last night about how Malfoy was going to spend some quality time with his monster of break, and a theory about how the two are somehow related. I swear I have no idea how that boy gets these ideas in his head.

Harry on the other hand was thrilled that Malfoy was staying. “The holidays will be the perfect time to question Malfoy guys.” Harry says to us excitedly after he scribbles his name down on the parchment and McGonagall has walked off far enough.

Unfortunately, the potion is only half finished. We still need the bicorn horn and the boomslang skin, and the only place we are going to get them is from Snape’s private stores. Harry and I privately feel that we’d rather face Slytherin’s legendary monster than let Snape catch us robbing his office.

“What we need,” says Hermione briskly as Thursday afternoon’s double Potions lesson looms nearer, “is a diversion. Then one of us can sneak into Snape’s office and take what we need.” Okay a diversion is definitely something that I can handle. As long as I’m not the one doing something bad to Snape, he hates me enough as it is.

“I think I’d better do the actual stealing,” Hermione continues in a matter-of-fact tone. “You three will be expelled if you get into any more trouble, and I’ve got a clean record. So all you need to do is cause enough mayhem to keep Snape busy for five minutes or so.”

Harry smiles feebly and Ron grunts in mock offense. Deliberately causing mayhem in Snape’s Potions class is about as safe as poking a sleeping dragon in the eye.

Potions lessons take place in one of the large dungeons. Thursday afternoon’s lesson proceeds in the usual way. Twenty cauldrons stand steaming between the wooden desks, on which stand brass scales and jars of ingredients. Snape prowls through the fumes, making waspish remarks about the Gryffindors’ work while the

Slytherins snigger appreciatively. Draco Malfoy, who is Snape’s favorite student, keeps flicking puffer-fish eyes at Ron and Harry, who know that if they retaliate they will get detention faster than you can say “Unfair.” I’m working on my attempts to boil the weasel’s mind with just the power of my thoughts, if only that happened to be one of the skills that I was given in life.

Hermione waits until Snape has turned to reduce Neville to tears, to nod her head to us in signal for starting the distraction. Oh this is going to be epic! I pull the Filibuster fireworks out of my pocket that I had sweet talked Fred and George into. I pass them along to Harry while continuing to stir my cauldron. My potion has started to smoke and I’m fairly certain that that’s a good thing.

Harry prods the firework with his arm and it starts fizzling to life. Harry tosses it into the air and it lands beautifully in Goyle’s cauldron. I smother my snicker behind the sleeve of my robe. This is going to be epic!

Goyle’s potion explodes, showering the whole class. People shriek as splashes of the Swelling Solution hit them. Malfoy gets a face-full and his nose begins to swell like a balloon; Goyle blunders around, his hands over his eyes, which have expanded to the size of a dinner plate — Snape is trying to restore calm and finds out what had happened. Through the confusion, I see Hermione slip quietly into Snape’s office.

“Silence! SILENCE!” Snape roars. “Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draught — when I find out who did this —” I bit down on my lower lip so hard that it bleeds to keep from laughing when Malfoy lumbers to the front of the class, his head lowered down by the melon of a nose that is now on his face. About half the class is rushing forward to get some of the draught. I glance over my notes one last time to make sure that my potion will be presentable enough, so that Snape won’t dock too many points from me even though he’s in a foul mood.

When everyone has taken a swig of antidote and the various swellings have subsided, Snape sweeps over to Goyle’s cauldron and scoops out the twisted black remains of the firework. There is a sudden hush.

“If I ever find out who threw this,” Snape whispers, “I shall make sure that person is expelled.” I can practically hear Harry gulp from beside me. Snape has his gaze set on Harry the entire time that he’s talking. I don’t think that Snape saw him but you never can be too sure.

When the bell rings ten minutes later I’ve never been more pleased to be out of that dungeon classroom. The four of us make our way hurriedly up to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom so that we can put the finishing touches on the potion. “He knows it’s me! Snape knows that I blew up the potion!” Harry hisses to us, as we climb yet another set of stairs.

“Don’t be barmy Harry. There were like ten students making a fuss about blown up body parts, he couldn’t of seen you.” Ron tells him trying to calm his best friend down. We finally make it to the bathroom and are able to slip in without too much difficulty.

Hermione gets straight to work on adding the stolen ingredients and I help her. I hear a saddened and weary sigh from above me. I glance up and see Myrtle lunging against the window sill above the bathroom stall. She’s looking at all that’s going on with a resigned air about her.

“You know I should have told on you.” She starts almost lazily. Harry glances up at her, and Ron looks like he wants to throw something. That would not be a smart idea what so ever.

“Please Myrtle… this is important. Don’t you want to stop the petrifications? This is just as much your home as it is ours!” Hermione pleads trying to find the ghost girl’s good side. Again there’s that flicker of something in Myrtle’s eye that I had seen the last time that we’d talked, when she mentioned that she was doing a favor or an old friend.

“Come on Myrtle. This is really important.” I tell her giving her a searching look. That glimmer goes through her eye again and I try and decipher what it is, but its gone too fast yet again.

“Fine. Its not like there’s anything exciting going on in here anyway. Been a while since a good mishap.” She says flippantly, floating into the air and out down into the toilet the next stall over with a splash. The four of us exchange incredulous looks.

“What the bloody hell was that about?” Ron questions. Harry shrugs his shoulders, and I lean against the side of the stall. I don’t know what’s going on with that ghost but I’m sure as hell going to find out. Not even the three-headed hellhound will stop me.

“There! It should be ready in two weeks.” Hermione exclaims finishing up the last touches of the potion. Now all it has to do is cook.

* * *

 

A week later, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I are walking across the entrance hall when we see a small knot of people gathering around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that has just been pinned up. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas beckon us over, looking excited.

“They’re starting a Dueling Club!” cries Seamus. “First meeting tonight! I wouldn’t mind dueling lessons; they might come in handy one of these days. . . .”

“What, you reckon Slytherin’s monster can duel?” snorts Ron, but he, too, reads the sign with interest.

“Could be useful,” he says to us as we walk into dinner. “Shall we go?” Harry grins and nods his head while I clap my hands together in excitement. Even Hermione seems interested in attending, though she claims it’s only for the knowledge of the certain spells that are going to be used.

On our way over to our table I literally bump into somebody, and I’m almost knocked over, but a hand reaches out to steady me. I glance up opening my mouth to thank the person when I’m greeted by the same pair of blue eyes that I see every time that I look in the mirror.

“Luka…” I say awkwardly while rubbing my arm nervously. My friends sense the awkwardness of the situation and like any good Gryffindor would do, they flee for the safety of out table.

“Jamie… I’m sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’ve had a lot on my mind recently.” Luka says. I feel my mouth drop open. This is the most that he’s spoken to me since the disaster that was the flying car wreck.

“S’okay no damage done.” I mumble feeling uncomfortably self-conscious at the moment. Luka shifts his weight onto another foot and glances at me before turning his attention to the ground.

“Look Jamie I know that I’ve been a big prat for a while but… I’m sorry. I don’t know how to handle situations like that like you can. I’ve never been in that much trouble my whole life. I know that it doesn’t excuse my actions but I’m tired of not speaking anymore so I’m sorry. I feel terrible.” Luka explains.

I stand there for a moment not quite believing what I hear coming out of my brother’s mouth. It’s rare for him to apologize when he thinks that he’s done nothing wrong. “What’s brought this all about?” I question. Luka shifts nervously again and runs a hand through his hair, his cheeks tingeing the slightest bit red.

“Ariana pretty much threw me head first into the lake. She was right steamed with me. She told me that I was the biggest prat that she knew and that I needed to grow up and be there for my sister, because whether I knew it or not I was driving her away.” Luka tells me sheepishly. I can’t help the grin that slips onto my face at that. I can totally imagine Ariana hanging him off the side of the lake.

“She’s right you were a prat.” I accuse punching him in the arm hard. Luka yelps slightly wincing while rubbing his sore muscles. “Don’t do it again Luka. I might not remember how much I enjoy being a twin the next time that you do something stupid.” I threaten, but there’s a smile on my face now. My brother grins at me, and we share a quick hug.

It’s still slightly awkward between the two of us but its much better than it was a few minutes ago. “You going to the dueling club tonight?” I ask him. Luka nods his head and walks me to my table.

“Yeah but I’m slightly worried about who’s going to teach it. Usually the DADA professor would be running such an event.” He tells me cautiously. My eyes widen and I shake my head with fear. No! That man is a menace, he shouldn’t even be allowed within ten feet of a wand! Great so this is going to suck more than an eggplant flavored Bertie-Botts Every flavored bean!

* * *

 

We made our way back down to the Great Hall at eight that night. I was dreading the possibility of what might be happening behind those closed doors. I really didn’t need to be losing my ears tonight; I’ve already spent too much time in the hospital wing as it is.

The long dining tables have vanished and a golden stage has appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling is velvety black once more and most of the school seems to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.

“I wonder who’ll be teaching us?” chirps Hermione as we edge into the chattering crowd. “Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young — maybe it’ll be him.”

“As long as it’s not —” Harry begins, but he ends on a groan: Gilderoy Lockhart is walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing his usual black. I have to fight back tears and the inexplicable feeling of dashing out of the hall never to return.

If the two of them are under the same roof for a dueling lesson then the word has surely come to an end. I catch my brother’s eye and we both roll them. This is going to be a nightmare. Hermione looks like all her dreams have come true at once as her gaze fixes on Lockhart.

Lockhart waves an arm for silence and calls, “Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!

“Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions — for full details, see my published works.”

“Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape,” says Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. “He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don’t want any of you youngsters to worry — you’ll still have your Potions master when I’m through with him, never fear!” I’m more worried about having to pick Lockhart up off the floor.

“Wouldn’t it be good if they finished each other off?” Ron mutters. Harry and I snicker at that and Hermione shoots the three of us a reproachful look.

Snape’s upper lip is curling. I wonder why Lockhart is still smiling; if Snape was looking at us like that we’d have been running as fast as we could in the opposite direction. Lockhart and Snape turn to face each other and bow; at least, Lockhart does, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerks his head irritably. Then they raise their wands like swords in front of them. Oh Merlin.

“As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position,” Lockhart explains the silent crowd. “On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” I murmur, watching Snape baring his teeth.

“One — two — three —” Both of them swing their wands above their heads and point them at their opponent; Snape cries: “Expelliarmus!” There is a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart is blasted off his feet: He flies backward off the stage, smashing into the wall, and slides down it to sprawl on the floor. I can’t help but grin at that.

Maybe I should have placed money on that. It was a sure bet that Snape was going to annihilate Lockhart. I’m surprised that the man can even dress himself. Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheer. Hermione is dancing on tiptoes. “Do you think he’s all right?” she squeals through her fingers.

“Who cares?” Harry and Ron say together. Lockhart is getting up unsteadily to his feet. His hat has fallen off and his wavy hair is standing on end. If only he could see his reflection now, he’d faint.

“Well, there you have it!” he cries, tottering back onto the platform. “That was a Disarming Charm — as you see, I’ve lost my wand — ah, thank you, Miss Brown — yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don’t mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy — however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see . . .”

Snape is looking murderous. I don’t blame him. Possibly Lockhart has noticed, because he says, “Enough demonstrating! I’m going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you’d like to help me —” The pair go through the students partnering them up to work on disarming one another. Lockhart reaches me and I suppress a groan.

“Pendragon you’ll be with Dumbledore. I’m curious to see how the two of you have developed your magical capabilities against one another.” He says jauntily clapping his hand onto my shoulder making me wince. I hate that he’s so close. Ariana shoots me a pained albeit sympathetic look.

At least my paring isn’t anywhere near as bad as my friends. Ron got partnered with Finnigan and Hermione with Millicent Bulstrode. I shiver just thinking of the girl she’s about two times the size of me, and I’m bigger than Hermione! Harry of course has the worst pairing for Snape loathes him the most.

Harry gets the joy of fighting Malfoy. The smarmy git looks like Christmas has come early and I suppose that for him it has. We all separated off into our pairs, and I shoot my friends nervous looks. Ariana catches my eye and gives me a sympathetic look until she has to spin around and we’re both pacing away from each other.

“Wands at the ready!” shouts Lockhart. “When I count to three, cast your charms to Disarm your opponents — only to disarm them — we don’t want any accidents — one . . . two . . . three —”

I see a flash of silver light go off by Harry on two, but when three comes, I dodge the Expelliarmus that Ariana had sent my way, and returned one right back, and I was satisfied to watch her wand flick out of her hand and onto the ground. She grins at me and gives me a thumbs up while bending down to retrieve her fallen wand. What I didn’t realize until I dropped my wand down to my side is that the rest of the Great Hall had fallen into chaos.

A haze of greenish smoke is hovering over the scene. Both Neville and Justin are lying on the floor, panting; Ron is holding up an ashen-faced Seamus, apologizing for whatever his broken wand has done; but Hermione and Millicent Bulstrode are still moving; Millicent has Hermione in a headlock and Hermione is whimpering in pain; both their wands lay forgotten on the floor. Harry and I leap forward and pull Millicent off. It was difficult: She is a lot bigger than we are.

“Dear, dear,” says Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. “Up you go, Macmillan. . . . Careful there, Miss Fawcett. . . . Pinch it hard, it’ll stop bleeding in a second, Boot —”

“I think I’d better teach you how to block unfriendly spells,” says Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glances at Snape, whose black eyes glint, and looks quickly away. “Let’s have a volunteer pair — Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you —”

“A bad idea, Professor Lockhart,” snaps Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat. “Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We’ll be sending what’s left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox.” Neville’s round, pink face went pinker. “How about Malfoy and Potter?” says Snape with a twisted smile.

“Excellent idea!” cries Lockhart, gesturing Harry and Malfoy into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room.

“Now, Harry,” explains Lockhart. “When Draco points his wand at you, you do this.” He raised his own wand, attempting a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape smirks as Lockhart quickly picks it up, saying, “Whoops — my wand is a little overexcited —”

I groan and face palm. I’m not going to have a best friend anymore at the rate that this duel is looking. Poor Harry looks about ready to pass out as he attempts to get the buffoon to show him the wand movement again. I’m not even sure that it’s a real spell.

“You’re friend is going to get creamed.” Luka says slipping beside Ariana and me. Ron and Hermione look on nervously from in front of us. Come on Harry you can do it, he’s no one special just a git of a weasel.

“Three — two — one — go!” Lockhart counts off. Malfoy raises his wand quickly and bellows, “Serpensortia!”

The end of his wand explodes. I watch, aghast, as a long black snake shoots out of it, falls heavily onto the floor between them, and raises itself, ready to strike. There are screams as the crowd backs swiftly away, clearing the floor.

“Don’t move, Potter,” drawls Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake. “I’ll get rid of it. . . .”

“Allow me!” shouts Lockhart. He brandishes his wand at the snake and there is a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flies ten feet into the air and falls back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithers straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raises itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike.

Ariana gasps sharply from beside me and grips on to my arm tightly, her fingernails biting into my arm. That’s when Harry does the single most terrifying thing that he’s ever done since I’ve met him and that’s saying something since I’ve seen him stand in front of the mutated face of Voldemort.

He takes a few steps closer to the snake and opens his mouth. What comes out of it though is not words but guttural hissing noises, that send a shiver down my spine. The snake rears back from Justin and turns to face Harry hissing at him as he does. Harry hisses right back, and before anything else can happen Justin shouts at Harry,    “What do you think you’re playing at?” He cries a squeak to his voice. Harry give him a confused look. Merlin saggy pants I never imagined that Harry was a parselmouth.

With a poof of smoke the snake disappears having been destroyed by professor Snape. Everyone is looking at Harry with wide eyes, and the whispers have started up ten fold. “He’s a parselmouth?” Ariana asks me leaning in so that I can hear.

“I didn’t know…” I admit never taking my gaze off of my best friend. I wonder how many things there are about him that I don’t know? Ron and Hermione rush forward tugging Harry to the door of the Great Hall.

“You know what this will mean don’t you.” Luka tells me a serious glint in his eye. Before I have time to question my brother about his curious word choice, I have to run to catch up with my friends. Harry needs me more then they do right now. I catch up to them in the common room in Gryffindor tower.

Ron looks like he’s going to be sick, and Hermione’s brow is furrowed in thought. “I know,” Harry says. “I mean, that’s only the second time I’ve ever done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the zoo once — long story — but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil and I sort of set it free without meaning to — that was before I knew I was a wizard —”

“A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?” Ron repeats faintly.

“So?” Harry says. “I bet loads of people here can do it.”

“Oh, no they can’t,” I tell Harry sitting down next to him. “It’s not a very common gift. Harry, this is bad.”

“What’s bad?” asks Harry. I can tell that he’s starting to get angry. “What’s wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn’t told that snake not to attack Justin —”

“Oh, that’s what you said to it?” Ron interrupts.

“What d’you mean? You were there — you heard me —” Harry starts.

“I heard you speaking Parseltongue,” I tell Harry placing my hand on his arm gently to try and lessen the blow that’s going to come.

“Snake language. You could have been saying anything — no wonder Justin panicked, you sounded like you were egging the snake on or something — it was creepy, you know —” Harry gapes at us.

“I spoke a different language? But — I didn’t realize — how can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it?” Harry looks so confused that I feel terrible for him. He really doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“D’you want to tell me what’s wrong with stopping a massive snake biting off Justin’s head?” he demands. “What does it matter how I did it as long as Justin doesn’t have to join the Headless Hunt?”

“It matters,” says Hermione, speaking at last in a hushed voice, “because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That’s why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent.” Harry’s mouth drops open.

“Exactly,” I tell him. “And now the whole school’s going to think you’re his great-great-great-great-grandson or something —”

“But I’m not,” cries Harry, with panic.

“You’ll find that hard to prove,” Hermione tells him. “He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be.” Harry sighs and drops his head into his hands. I rub his back in circles trying to calm the boy down. I don’t know what this is going to mean for the group but I haven’t given up on Harry yet, and there’s no way that I’m going to now.

Who knows maybe his skills in snake charming will come in use one day? 

* * *

 

By next morning, however, the snow that had begun in the night has turned into a blizzard so thick that the last Herbology lesson of the term is canceled: Professor Sprout wants to fit socks and scarves on the Mandrakes, a tricky operation she would entrust to no one else, now that it was so important for the Mandrakes to grow quickly and revive Mrs. Norris and Colin Creevey.

Harry decided that he was going to use his newfound time to sulk in front of the fire. Ron and Hermione are playing a game of wizard’s chest and I’m adding a new charmed paper to my collection. I finish the last incantation, and smile at my depiction of Justin’s hair standing straight up on his head. I had the cobra slither after him each time the paper Justin ran away.

Ron through that it was brilliant while Harry and Hermione both glared at me. I in turn just shrugged my shoulders. The castle is becoming too fraught with tension. People just need to relax a little. Maybe I’ll talk to my second favorite pair of twins and see what they’re willing to be up for. Ron finally slams his bishop down on the chessboard and turns his glare to Harry.

“If finding Justin is that important to you Harry then go ahead and do so!” Ron cries glaring at his best friend.

“I agree Harry. Sitting here and sulking isn’t going to do you or anyone any good.” I tell him. Harry gets up and storms off through the portrait hole. The three of us share a look and a collective sigh. Sometimes being Harry’s friend is stressful.

After a few minutes I get up and sigh. I return my stuff to my room, and go back down to the hall to tell my friends that I’m going to go and look for my brother. They don’t need to know that I’m really going to go and look for Fred and George. Hermione would probably try and sit on me to stop from going and cooking up some scheme that’s going to get me in trouble.

With a grin and a wave bye I slip out of the portrait and start going through the halls that I know that the twins like to hang out in since no one ever really looks there except for Filch when he has to. I took a step onto one of the deserted corridor only to hear a shout come from ahead of me.

“ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!” Peeves bellows zooming past me and out of sight. I start running before I even can process what’s going on. I skid to a stop when I come across a sight that I wish that I hadn’t seen.

Justin Fitch-Fletchly is on the ground starting at the ceiling with a horrified look on his face. He’s frozen solid not blinking or breathing. The thing that’s creepier though is the face that Nearly Headless Nick floats next to him with his head lolling on his body, in a similarly petrified state. People crowd in around me looking at the scene.

The final piece that makes this a nightmare is Harry’s stunned look on his face right next to the victims. Can ghosts even be petrified? Professor McGonagall came running though, sending off a bang with her wand to quiet the people. Justin is rushed to the hospital wing and McGonagall gives Harry a sad look.

“Come with me Potter.” She snaps at Harry. I step forward and grab Harry’s arm.

“Pendragon I advise you to go back to your dormitory.” McGonagall barks. I jump releasing my friend. Harry shoots me a wide pleading look as he’s being lead away. Don’t worry Harry I don’t think that you did it. If you did then Malfoy would have been frozen multiple times before now. I run my hand through my hair and release a sigh.

Okay we seriously need to do something. I spot a pair of identical redheads at the other end of the corridor. I catch their eye, and motion for us to get out of here. I just hope that all of this mess will be cleared up soon. I don’t want to be facing another unknown danger for the second year in a row.


	11. The Polyjuice Potion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

11-The Polyjuice Potion

 

The double attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned what had hitherto been nervousness into real panic. Curiously, it was Nearly Headless Nick’s fate that seemed to worry people most. What could possibly do that to a ghost? people asked each other; what terrible power could harm someone who was already dead? There was almost a stampede to book seats on the Hogwarts Express so that students could go home for Christmas.

“At this rate, we’ll be the only ones left,” Ron tells us. “Us, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. What a jolly holiday it’s going to be.” I couldn’t help but agree with Ron. I didn’t want to spend my holiday with just them either. At least we’d still have Ariana and my brother here with us as well.

Oh and how could I forget my favorite pair of redheaded twins? We had gotten together after Harry had gotten detained and taken to the Headmaster’s office to come up with a prank that would shock the student population back into living. Unfortunately for us one redheaded prefect was keeping a close eye on the three of us.

I don’t really want to have to go through an entire holiday with Percy again. He seems to be a fun leech whenever he’s around everything just loses its entertainment. Fred and George have taken Harry’s newfound notoriety and had fun with it. They go out of their way to march ahead of Harry down the corridors, shouting, “Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through. . . .”

Percy is deeply disapproving of this behavior. “It is not a laughing matter,” he says coldly.

“Oh, get out of the way, Percy,” snaps Fred. “Harry’s in a hurry.”

“Yeah, he’s off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his fanged servant,” replies George, chortling. Even though I thought that it wasn’t a laughing matter it was still entertaining. Ginny didn’t like the twins’ jokes either. She’d always plead for them to stop. “Oh, don’t,” she wails every time Fred asks Harry loudly who he is planning to attack next, or when George pretends to ward Harry off with a large clove of garlic when they meet.

Harry of course is taking this whole Heir of Slytherin thing pretty easily. When I asked him about it he had only shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes at me. Harry didn’t see the point in making such a big fuss about something that wasn’t true. People were going to judge him no matter what his own opinion is on the matter.

One thing that was rather shocking though was that Malfoy seemed rather put out about all the attention that Harry was getting as a potential Slytherin heir. “It’s like he’s just bursting to admit that he’s the heir.” Ron exclaims giddily one morning on our walk to class.

I’m not sure how certain I am about that but we’ll see in due time. “We won’t need to wait much longer guys. The Polyjuice potion is almost ready.” Hermione assures us. Harry lets out a sigh of relief.

“Good I’m tired of being falsely accused all the time. I’m starting to think that even Dumbledore doesn’t believe in me as much as he used to.” Harry states glumly referencing his meeting with the headmaster.

* * *

 

At last the term ended and a silence as deep as the snow on the ground descended on the castle. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I had the run of Gryffindor tower along with the rest of the Weasley clan. The school was pretty much empty besides that. People are all hiding out at home worried about the attacks that have been happening.

I for one don’t blame them. You know that there’s cause for worry when even ghosts can be petrified by whatever the heck’s out there. Christmas dawned fast and early this year. I was excited for the fact that this time I could share the day with Hermione as well.

We both rose early and jammed out feet into our slippers so that we could gather up our gifts, and meet up with the boys. I again had a decent sized pile on my bed. When I pushed open the door to the boy’s room though, Harry and Ron were both still soundly asleep, Ron snoring rather loudly. Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes at the sight of them.

With a rather undignified huff, she stomps over to the window and throws the curtains back. “Wake up you two!” She cries. Harry winces, and Ron groans attempting to bury himself further under his covers.

“Merry Christmas! Come on guys Hermione has exciting news!” I squeal, dropping my gifts onto Harry’s trunk. I clamber up onto his bed, and start jumping on it in excitement. Harry groans and shoves his glasses onto his nose.

“Jamie!” He cries exasperatedly, grabbing me by my arm and pulling me down next to him.

“Come on Harry it’s Christmas!” I grin. Harry stares at me for a long second before he smiles in return. I throw my arms around him in a quick hug before handing him his presents.

“I’ve been up for a whole hour already and Jamie has been up for nearly half that time. I went and added the last of the lacewings to the potion. It’s ready.” Hermione informs everyone. Ron jerks up from his position underneath his pillow.

“Well blimey Hermione! Why didn’t you start off with that?” Ron cries. Hermione shoots him a cross look but it quickly dissolves as the spirit of opening presents overcomes us.

“We should go tonight.” Hermione adds as an afterthought as she tears open the wrappings on one of her countless books. This year Harry and Ron chipped in together and got me my very own basic wizarding chessboard and pieces. Hermione gave me yet another book on advanced charm work, and my brother Luka gave me a jumper with the phrase ‘I laugh in the face of danger… literally’.

He must have been in one of his sarcastic moods that day. Kingsley sent me a broom servicing kit and Ariana Dumbledore surprised me by making me a stuffed kitten that looks surprisingly a lot like my drawing of the fire-breathing kitten of mine.

I grin and cast a charm on the plush, to animate it into action. The little white kitten stretches its legs and mews contentedly. Before I know it I have a small stuffed animal curled up in my lap and purring. I can’t help but let out a happy laugh at that. This has been a great break from all the drama that has been swallowing the whole school up.

I’m not sure how much more of all this I can take. I might be a Gryffindor but that doesn’t mean that I always like being on edge, especially since they’re going to use the polyjuice potion tonight. I’m positive that the smarmy git of a weasel isn’t the heir of Slytherin. There’s just no way that Malfoy can be someone that important. The universe doesn’t hate me that much!

* * *

 

No one, not even someone dreading taking Polyjuice Potion later, can fail to enjoy Christmas dinner at Hogwarts. The Great Hall looks magnificent. Not only are there a dozen frost-covered Christmas trees and thick streamers of holly and mistletoe crisscrossing the ceiling, but enchanted snow is falling, warm and dry, from the ceiling. Dumbledore leads us in a few of his favorite carols, Hagrid booming more and more loudly with every goblet of eggnog he consumes. Percy, who hasn’t noticed that Fred has bewitched his prefect badge so that it now reads “Pinhead,” keeps asking us all what we are sniggering at.

The twins and I had decided earlier on today that we were going to pull off our prank once everyone was back from the holidays and hopefully in good moods. I even manage to convince my brother to come sit with us at the Gryffindor table since he is the only student in the whole of Ravenclaw house to be remaining at school for the holiday.

The only thing that was slightly annoying was Malfoy bragging about all the gifts that he’d received for Christmas. Harry and Ron kept shooting glares at him, but both boys had a triumphant bordering on almost smug look about them, like they were sure that Malfoy was about to get caught.

I couldn’t help but sigh and shake my head at that. When I had run into Ariana earlier I had thanked her for the plush kitten. She in turn blushed and mentioned that she loved her badger so much that she thought that I should have one as well this year.

Once the boys had gotten around to their third round of pudding Hermione was finally fed up enough, to drag them away to go and finalize our plan. I said goodnight to everyone and quickly followed behind my retreating friends. I felt slightly sad for Ginny sitting there all alone, but Ariana sat down next to her quickly, and engaged her in conversation.

“We still need a bit of the people you’re changing into,” says Hermione matter-of-factly, as though she is sending us to the supermarket for laundry detergent. “And obviously, it’ll be best if you can get something of Crabbe’s and Goyle’s; they’re Malfoy’s best friends, he’ll tell them anything. And we also need to make sure the real Crabbe and Goyle can’t burst in on us while we’re interrogating him.

“I’ve got it all worked out,” she goes on smoothly, ignoring Harry’s and Ron’s stupefied expressions. I can’t help but snicker at that. She holds up two plump chocolate cakes. “I’ve filled these with a simple Sleeping Draught. All you have to do is make sure Crabbe and Goyle find them. You know how greedy they are, they’re bound to eat them. Once they’re asleep, pull out a few of their hairs and hide them in a broom closet.”

Harry and Ron look incredulously at each other. “Hermione, I don’t think —” Ron starts.

“That could go seriously wrong —” Harry stammers. But Hermione has a steely glint in her eye not unlike the one Professor McGonagall sometimes has. It was enough to send shivers down my spine, and snaps the mouths closed on both the boys. Damn remind me to never get on her bad side, it could seriously be bed for my health, and I’m in the hospital wing enough as it is.

“The potion will be useless without Crabbe’s and Goyle’s hair,” she says sternly. “You do want to investigate Malfoy, don’t you?” Both Harry and Ron quickly nods their heads, but the disgusted look on their faces doesn’t disappear. “Now Jamie…” Hermione starts turning her attention to me.

Quickly I back up holding my hands out. “I’m not doing it Hermione. I’ll be look out or something, but there’s no way that I’m being a part of this. I still don’t think that’s its him.” I point out shaking my head violently in the negative. Hermione sighs and shoots me an exasperated look.

“I wasn’t suggesting that you would. Besides there isn’t a Slytherin girl here that you could possibly turn into. I got my hair off of the robes of Millicent Bulstrode when she was trying to strangle me at the dueling club.” Hermione explains holding up a small glass vial with a few dark strands out hair in it.

I shiver just thinking about my friends turning into the Slytherins that hate our guts. Why couldn’t this plan had involved something as simple as just throwing on the invisibility cloak and listening in on their conversations? Hermione went back into the stall to check on the potion while Harry and Ron went to get the hairs from dumb and dumber.

I leaned against the stall behind my friend and watched as she worked. “Hermione… I know that you’re scared.” I tell her. I watch as my friend stiffens for a second but then relaxes.

“Of course I am Jamie. I’m about to turn into a gorilla girl who tried to kill me a month ago. How would you feel?” She tells me. I heave a sigh and squeeze my eyes shut for a second, trying to gather my patience back up.

“I mean that you’re scared about what’s happening at school. Why else would you be breaking this many school rules making an illegal potion? This isn’t you Hermione. Usually when Harry and Ron come up with hair brained ideas you’re the one to burst their bubble.” I explain to her.

“You forgot that you have some pretty reckless ideas yourself there Jamie.” She says quietly. I chuckle softly and cross my arms over my chest.

“Yeah I can believe that… you know Hermione I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. Neither are Ron and Harry. Whatever is causing this we’ll stop it. I guarantee that.” I tell her. My best friend turns around to look at me, and a watery smile breaks out on her face.

Hermione get’s up and wraps me into a tight hug. “Oh Jamie, don’t promise what you can’t assure.” She tells me quietly. With that she gives me a light peck on the cheek and turns back to her bubbling slob of a potion. Boy am I glad that I don’t have to take that.

* * *

 

Fifteen minutes later Harry and Ron come hurrying back holding too large Slytherin robes and clothes in their hands, along with tufts of hair that I can only assume had once sprouted out of greasy Slytherin heads. For the eighth time in the matter of minutes I’m thankful for the fact that I will not have to participate in this round of disgusting and stupidly dangerous adventure work.

The four of us stare into the cauldron. Up close it looks like thick brown bubbling mud. Boy am I glade that I’m not going to be having to drink that! “I’m sure I’ve done everything right,” says Hermione, nervously rereading the splotched page of Moste Potente Potions. “It looks like the book says it should . . . once we’ve drunk it, we’ll have exactly an hour before we change back into ourselves.”

“Now what?” Ron whispers an unflattering shade of green.

“We separate it into three glasses and add the hairs.” Hermione instructs not exactly looking so great herself. Hermione ladles large dollops of the potion into each of the glasses. Then, her hand trembling, she shakes Millicent Bulstrode’s hair out of its bottle into the first glass.

The potion hisses loudly like a boiling kettle and froths madly. A second later, it turns a sick sort of yellow. “Merlin essence of Millicent Bulstrode… I bet you that you throw up at least once taking that.” I say eyeing the potion warily. Hermione glares at me, but the sickened look on her face takes away some of the sting.

Hermione motions for Harry and Ron to add the hairs to their cups as well. Harry dropped Goyle’s hair into his cup and with a hiss and much frothing the potion turned a lovely khaki booger color. Crabbe’s hair in Ron’s cup turned a dark murky brown. I’m not sure which one of the three that I would have wanted to sample at that point.

Each glass looked more horrifying than the last. “Hang on,” says Harry as Ron and Hermione reach for their glasses. “We’d better not all drink them in here. . . . Once we turn into Crabbe and Goyle we won’t fit. And Millicent Bulstrode’s no pixie.”

“Good thinking,” grouses Ron, unlocking the door. “We’ll take separate stalls.” I watch nervously as my friends step into separate stalls and lock them, putting them out of view.

“Well this ought to be good.” Myrtle says appearing next to me, and I jump slightly. Even standing this close to her makes me shiver.

“Shut up.” I say softly. My friends count off, and I wait anxiously switching my weight from foot to foot. What if the potion isn’t brewed correctly? Something horrible could have happened to them. Dear Merlin, what if they’re stuck looking like Slytherins for the rest of their lives? Not only would they be hideous they’d get into so much trouble!

The ripping of clothes comes from behind the stalls, and I can hear the shattering of glass from the dropped cups. “Are you guys all right?” I call out taking a step closer to the stalls. It took a minute but finally I hear groans come from two of the stalls.

“Yeah just peachy.” Came the deep grunt of Crabbe’s grunt from Ron’s stall.

“We’re fine Jamie.” Goyle rasps stepping out of the stall where my friend Harry used to be. I blinked and reminded myself that the tall bulky Slytherin standing in front of me is actually my short bespectacled best friend. Crabbe steps out of the stall next to Harry. I can’t believe that that’s Ron.

“Merlin’s saggy pants… you two look atrocious.” I shudder. Crabbe grins at me and I fight back a flinch reminding myself that it’s only Ron and not one of my lifetime enemies. Harry and Ron walk over to the mirrors and start poking and prodding themselves to take in their new appearances.

“This is unbelievable… someone pinch me, I’ve turned into Crabbe its my nightmare come alive.” Ron murmurs. Not having the strength to resist an opportunity like that, I sidle up next to my friend and give him a good hard pinch on the arm. Ron emits a rather high-pitched yelp, and whacks me in the arm.

It feels like I’m hit by a bag of bricks and I grunt in pain. “Blimey I’m sorry Jamie… I’m not used to having arms the size of small children.” Crabbe, no Ron stammers. I grit my teeth, and give him a closed lip smile in return.

“Enough of that you two. We need to get going. We still need to find out where the Slytherin common room is.” Harry hisses at the two of us. I see out of the corner of my eye that Myrtle is watching the three of us with a wry grin on her face. Ron and I give Harry incredulous looks.

“I don’t think that I’ve ever seen Goyle think before… its scary.” I tell him and Ron shakes his head in agreement. Harry goes over to Hermione’s stall and bangs on it.

“C’mon Hermione we need to get going!” Harry calls out and it’s weird hearing Goyle’s voice instead of him. A high-pitched voice answers him.

“I — I don’t think I’m going to come after all. You go on without me.” Hermione replies.

“Hermione, we know Millicent Bulstrode’s ugly, no one’s going to know it’s you —” Ron interjects. I elbow him even though I pretty much agree with him.

“No — really — I don’t think I’ll come. You two hurry up, you’re wasting time —” The rest of us look at each other bewildered.

“That looks more like Goyle,” Ron snickers. “That’s how he looks every time a teacher asks him a question.” I chuckle as well, and give him a subtle high five.

“Hermione, are you okay?” says Harry through the door.

“Fine — I’m fine — go on —” I don’t know what’s going on with her. Maybe she’s too afraid to come out looking like someone else. I don’t think that anything bad happened to her because Harry and Ron are okay despite looking like two of our mortal enemies. Harry glanced down at his watch and let out a great sigh.

“Fine, come on Ron we have to go. Look after her Jamie. We’ll hopefully be back before the hour is up.” Harry tells me grabbing Ron by the arm and the two of them disappear out of the bathroom door. I shake my head at the two of them. I’m not sure that this is going to end well. I have a bad feeling about all this.

I go over to Hermione’s stall and lean against the door. “Mione come on, I know that Millicent isn’t the nicest of girls but appearance isn’t everything. You’re still the same smart Hermione underneath all of it.” I tell her closing my eyes, rubbing at my temples in an attempt to stop the headache that’s growing behind my eyes.

“Jamie please just leave me alone…” Hermione’s teary voice comes out from behind the door. I sigh again, and push away from the stall. I go over to the circle of sinks in the center of the lavatory, and lean against them. I can barely see my reflection through the spotted mirror.

“I’m surprised that you’re not out there with your friends.” Myrtle’s nasal voice comes from beside me. I look up from the mirror and focus my attention on the ghost. Okay now I’m almost positive that there’s something going on with this ghost. She’s not like this to any of the others. She actually approaches me and wants to talk.

“Okay what’s going on here Myrtle. Why are you talking to me? You mentioned something the other day about doing a favor for a friend.” I tell her sharply. Myrtle’s eyes widen for a second then, a small grin slips onto her face. I’m shocked into silence for I’m not sure if I’ve seen the ghost smile before.

“Oh I can definitely see the family resemblance now. Gwen never took any flack from anyone.” Myrtle says softly. I cock my head to the side, there’s something familiar about that name. Why is that? “I wasn’t sure at first since you didn’t look to much like her, but I guess that things change over time.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. Myrtle rolls her eyes at me.

“Are you seriously that daft. I was friends with Gwendolyn Sommers. Your grandmother.” The ghost says in a patronizing voice. I feel my mouth drop open in shock.

“You knew my grandmother?” I ask softly.

“Of course. Why do you think that I would even bother with you if I wasn’t? She was the only person in this school who was remarkably nice to me. Not sure why now that I look back at it. She was very popular, and she purposefully took the time to speak with me. That’s why when I died she still visited me.” The ghost explains.

This is something that I never knew. I was far too young to understand anything about my family when my parents died. “How…” I ask.

“Once she became a seventh year she came to me one day when I was minding my business in the toilets. She was upset with me for how I was treating the girls who had been mean to me when I was alive. I told her that I wasn’t going to change, and that she’d understand once she was wronged and then dead.”

“Even though Gwen couldn’t get through to me, she still asked one last thing of me since we were soon never going to be able to see each other anymore. She asked me to keep an eye on her descendants when they went through Hogwarts. She said that she had a terrible feeling that one of them would be in danger when they were of school age.” Myrtle explains a far away look coming into her eyes.

“She was my only friend… I told her that I would. It was the least that I could do after everything thing that she had done for me. As to why I’m talking to you… well I’m pretty sure Jamie Pendragon that you’re the descendant that Gwen was talking about. You’ve already almost died once in the year that you’ve been here. Not to mention that you’re friends with Harry Potter.” She states.

I can’t believe that my grandmother knew that something like this was going to happen so long ago. I also can’t believe that she trusted such a morose ghost like Myrtle. “I can’t believe this.” I mumble. Myrtle shrugs her shoulders.

“I don’t know why she wanted me to do this either. Its not like I can do much in this form, but I’m not going to break my promise to Gwen. She cared about you even though she never got the chance to meet you. There were a lot of hardships and disappointments in her family and life, but you were something that she was proud of.” Myrtle tells me.

“Wait… what about my family…” I start but I’m caught off guard by the banging of the bathroom door. I’m disgruntled but relieved to see my friends returned to their normal state and appearances. Unfortunately though, Myrtle has flown back over to the toilets, where she’s not snickering at something that she sees in one of the stalls.

“Jamie! Hermione! It’s not him. Malfoy isn’t the heir of Slytherin. He’s a rat bastard that want’s to help him, but unfortunately he’s not the dark prince himself.” Ron announces attempting to hold up his too large pants. I grin slightly to myself at having been right but my mind is too crowded with the information that I’ve just been given.

Harry goes over to Hermione’s stall. “Hermione! Have you not come out of the stall at all?” Harry inquires. I shake my head coming over to stand beside him.

“Nope she hasn’t set foot out and she’s in a right foul mood as well.” I tell him crossing my arms over my chest. Moaning Myrtle floats above us cackling madly in laughter now. I’m not sure if we’ve ever seen her this happy before. Not even the memory of Gwen can make her smile this much.

“Ooooooh, wait till you see,” she said. “It’s awful —” She shrieks. We hear the lock slide back and Hermione emerges, sobbing, her robes pulled up over her head.

“What’s up?” says Ron uncertainly. “Have you still got Millicent’s nose or something?” Hermione lets her robes fall and Ron backs into the sink. Merlin’s beard! Her face is covered in black fur. Her eyes have turned yellow and there are long, pointed ears poking through her hair.

“It was a c-cat hair!” she howls. “M-Millicent Bulstrode m-must have a cat! And the p-potion isn’t supposed to be used for animal transformations!” I did not expect this to ever happen. Maybe a misplaced limb but never, my best friend turning into a feline!

“Uh-oh,” says Ron.

“You’ll be teased something dreadful,” squeals Myrtle happily.

“It’s okay, Hermione,” says Harry quickly. “We’ll take you up to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey never asks too many questions. . . .”

It takes a long time to persuade Hermione to leave the bathroom. Moaning Myrtle sent us on our way with a hearty guffaw. “Wait till everyone finds out you’ve got a tail!” I spin around and shoot the ghost a nasty glare.

“Shut up Myrtle!” I shout. With that we hurry out into the hall. Hermione is in hysterics and all I can think of is that my best friend has turned into a cat and that my grandmother that I never knew is looking out for me from the grave.


	12. The Very Secret Diary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

12-The Very Secret Diary

 

Hermione remained in the hospital wing for several weeks. There was a flurry of rumor about her disappearance when the rest of the school arrived back from their Christmas holidays, because of course everyone thought that she had been attacked. So many students filed past the hospital wing trying to catch a glimpse of her that Madam Pomfrey took out her curtains again and placed them around Hermione’s bed, to spare her the shame of being seen with a furry face.

I was especially thankful for that for I was on teary snot rag duty. I know, that sounds about as much fun as it actually is. Hermione had at least one major breakdown a day wailing about either how stupid she was, or about how unfair life was. Not in the way that you’d think either, life was only unfair because it was keeping her from being in class.

This was something that Harry, Ron, and I thought was crazy. We brought her each day’s homework for she insisted that she had to keep up. “If I’d sprouted whiskers, I’d take a break from work,” says Ron, tipping a stack of books onto Hermione’s bedside table one evening.

Hermione huffed and sent a glare his way. Harry sat down on the chair next to her bed, and I propped myself up on the edge. “Don’t be silly Ron, I’ve got to catch up!” Hermione snaps at him pulling out her transfiguration textbook in the pile and opening it up.

“Well at least you’re getting out of class with Lockhart. I’d literally kill to get out of it. If he opens his big fat mouth one more time to assign a poem about his greatness, then I’m shoving Voyages with Vampires right in his mouth.” I grumble malevolently. Hermione gives me an affronted look but Harry cuts in before we are graced with another Lockhart is the greatest wizard alive speech.

Hermione is usually in a good mood since all the hair had vanished from her face finally and her eyes were slowly starting to turn back to the brown that they normally are. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any new leads?” Hermione says in a whisper, so that Madam Pomfrey can’t hear her.

“Nothing,” Harry grumbles gloomily.

“I was so sure it was Malfoy,” says Ron, for about the hundredth time.

“I said it once, I’ll say it again. I TOLD YOU SO.” I say having my fun of rubbing it into Ron’s face a little. He sent me a glare, and I just grinned right back.

“What’s that?” Harry asks, pointing to something gold sticking out from under Hermione’s pillow.

“Just a get well card,” squeaks Hermione hastily, trying to poke it out of sight, but Ron is too quick for her. He pulls it out, flicks it open, and reads aloud: “To Miss Granger, wishing you a speedy recovery, from your concerned teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award.”

Ron looks up at Hermione, disgusted. “You sleep with this under your pillow?” He cries. I can’t believe that she does that. I think that I might have actually thrown up a little in my mouth I was so revolted. Hermione luckily for her was spared from answering by Madame Pomfrey swooping into the curtained off area with Hermione’s next dose of medicine.

I’m thrilled that I’m finally not the one who is required to take foul tasting concoctions for once. On our way back to Gryffindor tower Harry had the pleasure of reminding me that we had a mountain of homework that Snape had assigned us this afternoon. Ron was currently moaning about the lost opportunity to ask Hermione questions about the Hair Raising potion.

I myself was having a hard time wrapping my head around the past few days. What Moaning Myrtle had told me was starting to nag at my mind. It was a constant reminder of how little I actually knew about my family. Sure I can read about them in history books, but that’s not the same as having actually known them.

Besides history is for the important facts, not all the small details about what made that person who they were and why, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m in a sort of odd form of homesickness, just for a home that I will never know. I had been to the corridor outside Myrtle’s bathroom many times when I could get around Finch, but I hadn’t ever gotten up the nerve to go in and ask her to tell me more about my family.

Knowing her, she’d stop being nice and just scream at me for my troubles. I’m wrenched out of my thoughts by an angry outburst from the floor above our current location. “That’s Filch,” Harry mutters as we hurry up the stairs and pause, out of sight, listening hard.

“You don’t think someone else’s been attacked?” I question. I feel myself start to tremble. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.

We stand still, our heads inclined toward Filch’s voice, which sounds quite hysterical.

“— even more work for me! Mopping all night, like I haven’t got enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I’m going to Dumbledore —” His footsteps recede along the out-of-sight corridor and we hear a distant door slam. Slowly we poke our heads around the corner and glance down the corridor.

Filch had obviously been manning his spot by where Mrs. Norris was found petrified, and the floor in the corridor was flooded with water. Well I can now see why he was in such a right state. Myrtle must have flooded the bathroom, by the sounds of the loud wails that I can hear coming from in there.

“Now what’s up with her?” whines Ron. Moaning Myrtle is really not one of his favorite people, she’s right up there with Malfoy and Lockhart about now.

“Let’s go and see,” Harry says, and holding their robes over our ankles we step through the great wash of water to the door bearing its OUT OF ORDER sign, ignoring it as always, and enter. Myrtle is wailing even louder once we’re inside the bathroom. I’ve never seen or heard her this upset before. It’s quite shocking really to be honest. I wonder if she was this loud when she was still alive?

Harry and Ron turn their gazes to me with a look like they expect me to say the first words to the distraught ghost floating behind a toilet stall. “Um… hey Myrtle what’s up? Why’d you flood the bathroom again?” I ask her awkwardly. Even though Myrtle has been nicer to me than most, I’m still not exactly sure how to go about approaching her. She sniffs a few times and levels a glare at the three of us.

“Who’s that? Have you come back to throw something else at me?” Myrtle gurgles from behind the door. Harry took a step closer to the closed door.

“Myrtle why would someone want to throw something at you?” He asks her.

“Because she’s bat shit crazy.” Ron murmurs under his breath to me.

“Don’t ask me,” Myrtle shouts, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashes onto the already sopping floor. “Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it’s funny to throw a book at me. . . .”

“But it can’t hurt you if someone throws something at you,” says Harry, reasonably. “I mean, it’d just go right through you, wouldn’t it?” Oh Harry, please tell me that you didn’t just say that. He obviously doesn’t understand how to talk to girls properly yet. Here we go.

He has said the wrong thing. Myrtle puffs herself up and shrieks, “Let’s all throw books at Myrtle, because she can’t feel it! Ten points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it goes through her head! Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovely game, I don’t think!”

“Who threw it at you, anyway?” questions Harry, trying to get the ghost to calm down.

“I don’t know. . . . I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head,” sniffles Myrtle, glaring at them. “It’s over there, it got washed out. . . .” She says gesturing in the direction of the big circle of sinks. I feel bad for Myrtle a little bit. She just makes it so hard to get to know her, and she’s so antagonistic to everyone she meets. It’s hard to feel sympathy for a person like that.

We all turn our gazes to under the sink in which she’s pointing at and underneath it lies a small thin black book. Harry goes over to pick it up, but I throw out an arm to catch him. “What?” Harry asks upset at being detained.

“Are you crazy?” says Ron. “It could be dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” replies Harry, laughing. “Come off it, how could it be dangerous?”

“You’d be surprised,” explains Ron, who is looking apprehensively at the book. “Some of the books the Ministry’s confiscated — Dad’s told me — there was one that burned your eyes out. And everyone who read Sonnets of a Sorcerer spoke in limericks for the rest of their lives. And some old witch in Bath had a book that you could never stop reading! You just had to wander around with your nose in it, trying to do everything one-handed. And —”

I nod along with what Ron’s saying. “All right I get it!” Harry says huffily stopping Ron mid rant. “Well, we won’t find out unless we look at it,” he says, and he ducks around me and picks the soggy book up off the floor.

“Harry no!” I cry but it’s far too late. Harry is looking the book over, and opening it up to look at the pages.

“Hmm… there’s nothing in it. All blank pages except for the inside cover. T.M. Riddle. I wonder who that is?” Harry thinks aloud. I grimace quietly and bite on my lower lip. This book can only be trouble I know it. Why else would it be discarded in this manner? If I wanted to get rid of my homework I would have just set it on fire, it would be more entertaining then.

“Hold up I know that name!” Ron shouts in surprise. I turn to my redheaded friend and raise and eyebrow at him. “T.M. Riddle got an award for special school services fifty years ago.” Ron explains. Okay now I’m impressed how on earth did he find that out?

“What? I had to polish is trophy like fifty times at detention for I kept spitting up slugs on it.” Ron says blushing at the embarrassing memory. Harry turns to the back cover of the book and sees something.

“He must’ve been Muggle-born,” says Harry thoughtfully. “To have bought a diary from Vauxhall Road. . . .”

“Well, it’s not much use to you,” says Ron. He drops his voice. “Fifty points if you can get it through Myrtle’s nose.”

“Ron! Come on she hasn’t done anything to you recently. She’s traumatized today. Leave her alone.” I tell him, grabbing him by the arm and forcibly pulling him out of the bathroom. There’s no need to get caught by Filch today either. I didn’t have time to see Harry pocket the book.

* * *

 

Hermione leaves the hospital wing, de-whiskered, tail-less, and fur-free, at the beginning of February. On her first evening back in Gryffindor Tower, Harry shows her T. M. Riddle’s diary and tells her the story of how we had found it. I still wasn’t very impressed with him for having taken the book anyway.

“Oooh, it might have hidden powers,” says Hermione enthusiastically, taking the diary and looking at it closely.

“If it has, it’s hiding them very well,” Ron grumbles. “Maybe it’s shy. I don’t know why you don’t chuck it, Harry.”

“I wish I knew why someone did try to chuck it,” says Harry. “I wouldn’t mind knowing how Riddle got an award for special services to Hogwarts either.”

“Could’ve been anything,” Ron hypothesizes. “Maybe he got thirty O.W.L.s or saved a teacher from the giant squid. Maybe he murdered Myrtle; that would’ve done everyone a favor. . . .” I smack him in the shoulder, but I can’t hide the small grin that’s on my face. That would be rather entertaining.

Harry and Hermione share a look. It’s been one that I’m growing to hate. “What?” I growl growing tired of this situation. If its not one thing this year its another.

“Well, the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago, wasn’t it?” Harry says. “That’s what Malfoy said.”

“Yeah . . .” says Ron slowly.

“And this diary is fifty years old,” adds Hermione, tapping it excitedly.

“So?” I reply crossing my arms over my chest in annoyance.

“Oh, guys, wake up,” snaps Hermione. “We know the person who opened the Chamber last time was expelled fifty years ago. We know T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago. Well, what if Riddle got his special award for catching the Heir of Slytherin? His diary would probably tell us everything — where the Chamber is, and how to open it, and what sort of creature lives in it — the person who’s behind the attacks this time wouldn’t want that lying around, would they?”

I sigh and shake my head. I bring a hand to my face to rub my temples. “That’s all great in theory Mione but the book is blank. No one ever wrote in it!” I cry frustration breaking through. Harry bites his lip, I guess that he hadn’t thought that far. Hermione on the other hand looks downright excited.

She pulls her wand out of her robe, and grins. “It might be invisible ink!” she whispers. Hermione taps the diary three times and says, “Aparecium!” Nothing happens. Undaunted, Hermione shoves her hand into her bag and pulls out what appears to be a bright red eraser.

“It’s a Revealer, I got it in Diagon Alley,” she explains. She rubs hard on January first. Nothing happens. Hermione huffs out a breath of air with a pout fully adorning her face.

“I’m telling you, there’s nothing to find in there,” grouses Ron. “Riddle just got a diary for Christmas and couldn’t be bothered filling it in.” I bite my lower lip. There’s something not right about that diary. It is just too big of a coincidence that we happened upon it.

“There’s nothing else that we can do with it. I say we just get rid of the thing. I don’t like what its already doing to us. We’re sitting here crowded around a diary with blank pages, like it’s going to do a trick.” I say nervously. Harry looks skeptical and Hermione looks like she wants to spend another few hours attempting to crack it.

“I’m telling you, there’s nothing to find in there,” says Ron. “Riddle just got a diary for Christmas and couldn’t be bothered filling it in.” I hope that he’s right.

* * *

 

The sun has now started to shine weakly on Hogwarts again. Inside the castle, the mood has grown more hopeful. There have been no more attacks since those on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, and Madam Pomfrey is pleased to report that the Mandrakes are becoming moody and secretive, meaning that they are fast leaving childhood.

“The moment their acne clears up, they’ll be ready for repotting again,” we heard her tell Filch kindly one afternoon. “And after that, it won’t be long until we’re cutting them up and stewing them. You’ll have Mrs. Norris back in no time.” Not that having that old bat of a cat around again would be a good thing though.

Perhaps the Heir of Slytherin has lost his or her nerve, that’s what Harry thinks. It must be getting riskier and riskier to open the Chamber of Secrets, with the school so alert and suspicious. Perhaps the monster, whatever it was, was even now settling itself down to hibernate for another fifty years. . . .

Ernie Macmillan though was being a general grade A pain in the arse. He was positive that Harry was still the heir of Slytherin and that he only stopped because he had given himself away at the dueling club meeting. Ron and I had attempted to send Ernie to the hospital wing for that comment, but Percy the perfect prefect happened around the corner and managed to stop the fight before it even started.

Even worse we had to listen through another boring and brain melting lecture from him on responsibility, and what it truly meant to be a Gryffindor. Personally I still don’t see how the boy didn’t manage to end up with the Ravenclaws he’s so dull.

Peeves isn’t helping matters; he keeps popping up in the crowded corridors singing “Oh, Potter, you rotter . . .” now with a dance routine to match. Gilderoy Lockhart seems to think he himself has made the attacks stop. Harry and I overheard him telling Professor McGonagall so while the Gryffindors were lining up for Transfiguration.

“I don’t think there’ll be any more trouble, Minerva,” he boasts, tapping his nose knowingly and winking. “I think the Chamber has been locked for good this time. The culprit must have known it was only a matter of time before I caught him. Rather sensible to stop now, before I came down hard on him.” I had to conceal my gag with the sleeve of my robe, but I’m positive that Professor McGonagall had caught it, for I saw the faintest hint of a smile at my reaction.

“You know, what the school needs now is a morale-booster. Wash away the memories of last term! I won’t say any more just now, but I think I know just the thing. . . .” He taps his nose again and strides off. Ha! Little did he know that this school was going to get livelier very soon courtesy of the Weasley twins and yours truly!

* * *

 

That evening the Weasley twins and I finally got to implement our newest act of mischief merriment making. Since our glorious armour incident last year we’ve been looking for a way to outdo ourselves this year. That’s the problem with success in my mind. You have to work even harder to come up with something bigger and better to top off your last production and to keep people interested and invested in what you do.

Well I put my charms skills to work again this time, and with the Weasley’s mysterious and wondrous sneaking skills, our plan was hatched, and now we’re going to see the fruits of our labors. In hindsight it really wasn’t that hard to put in place.

At dinner tonight, I tuck into my spot next to Ron at the table. Harry and Hermione sit down across from us, and I can see Fred and George a little bit father down the table. We had put a time-release charm on our prank so that we wouldn’t actually have to cast the spell during dinner. We would have been caught far too easily that way.

After about fifteen minutes most of the students and staff have wandered in and began to eat their meals. This was by design so that we’d have the greatest amount of people there for our stunt. I couldn’t help but grin and start to wiggle in my seat. I eyed the ham on my plate, and thought about what was about to happen.

Suddenly a high-pitched scream erupted in the hall. Everyone jumped and glanced to see where the commotion was coming from. The lucky first victim of our prank was a little first year Hufflepuff who was staring horrified at her piece of broccoli that was skewered on her fork.

“Ohhhhhhh! Why? What did I ever do to you? Wasn’t being beheaded from my stalk enough for you people? Now you have to go and stab through me?” The squeaky voice was coming from the broccoli on her fork. Everyone was shocked and gave each other perturbed looks.

The poor first year dropped her fork in fright. Suddenly the whole hall erupted in a cacophony of noise. All the food on every person’s plate had burst into a multitude of protests and insults. Malfoy’s dinner roll was calling him and Albino prat, well more like screaming it loudly.

Ron jumped from beside me when his porridge had started to gurgle on his spoon. “Hey dopey, you’d think that you’d stop acting so piggy and learn a few manners yeah? There are ladies present you know?” His porridge grumbles. Ron squealed in a very girly manner and his spoon and soup went clattering to the table.

My brother was currently fighting with his piece of ham that was accusing him of a gross lack of ethics in eating it. I could see my brother looking more offended by the minute. Hermione was shocked to awe as she watched her dinner fight amongst itself about which portion of the meal was the best, the meat, potatoes, or greens. It sounded like a revolt was on her hands in any moment.

Ariana Dumbledore was laughing merrily as she was listening to her pudding tell your momma jokes that were sprinkled in with fat jokes. McGonagall looked highly offended as her roast made passes at her. “Is it just me or are you looking just ravishing today professor, and I would know because I’m a piece of meat! We go together perfectly!”

Dumbledore was chuckling as his dinner roll was crying out about the injustice of life as being a piece of food. “Oh the humanity! I tell you sir you just go about your days minding your own business then you’re mixes with butter and yeast, and let me tell you that we have nothing in common! Then after you’re well and on your way to motion sickness, you’re separated and poured into molds. After that you’re thrusting into a scalding hot oven! Can you believe it?” His roll laments.

“Then after all that your life is end quite harshly when you ungrateful humans tear into us with your teeth. I tell you that this is a thankless and dreary existence!” He chuckles at his roll’s anguish.

Harry has started to duck the food that has started flying at him. His plate had started a mutiny against the human tyranny that was oppressing them, and it was time to revolt. I couldn’t help but laugh as my ham and broccoli bust out into hysterical tears.

The Weasley twins were singing the praises of food rights and the equality of living things, and the things that sustain the living things. Most of the hall was in laughter after the first few minutes of shock wore off, except for the students that happened to be accosted by their food of the night.

I glanced back at the headmaster and judging by the twinkle in his eye, that this was the right thing to do. It might have been a little unorthodox, but I think that it was the right thing to do. Millicent Bulstrode was crying out in disgust as the gravy dish poured all over her.

Pansy Parkinson was laughing at her but that was before her plate literally exploded right in her face. She had to spent the rest of her night picking bits of ham and salad out of her hair. I shared a conspiratorial grin with the twins and their good friend Lee Jordan. I’m pretty sure that this was a success.

It was totally worth it to watch Snape’s porridge profess its dying love to him. The look on the bat like teacher’s face was priceless. More then a few snickers were heard at that. It took a while for the chaos to quiet down but by the end of dinner there was a smile on almost everyone’s face even Percy Weasley who never seemed to be happy unless handing out detentions. Hogwarts needed a little bit of unwinding. I just hope that this lighter air can stay around for a while longer. 

* * *

 

So Lockhart’s crummy idea of a morale booster came at breakfast the morning of February fourteenth. Harry and I hadn’t had much sleep the night before because of a late running Quidditch practice. Wood was striving to become the young wizard to ever blow a vein in his head in my opinion. When Harry and I walked into breakfast late that morning, I actually had to stop and rub my eyes to make sure that I was indeed awake and not dreaming.

I’m not sure which one would have been better at this point. The walls are all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse still, heart-shaped confetti is falling from the pale blue ceiling. Harry sits down next to a horrified Ron while I slide into place next to a giggling Hermione.

I don’t know what she finds so great about this set up. I am a girl and I’m a little bit girly at times but this is definitely too much for me. Maybe we’re being punished for the food prank a few weeks ago, or the farting pen prank George, Fred, and I had played on Filch one rare time when he was actually back in his office.

“What in the name of Merlin’s saggy pants happened here?” I question, half horrified.

“It looks like a greeting card threw up in here.” Harry murmurs stricken. Ron, Hermione, and I all give him confused looks and Harry sighs. “Never mind that, it’s a Muggle thing.” Harry explains with a wave of his hand.

Ron points to the teachers’ table, apparently too disgusted to speak. Lockhart, is wearing lurid pink robes to match the decorations, and is now waving for silence. The teachers on either side of him are looking stony-faced. From where I sit, I can see a muscle going in Professor McGonagall’s cheek. Snape looks as though someone has just fed him a large beaker of Skele-Gro.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Lockhart shouts. “And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all — and it doesn’t end here!” I glance at Hermione’s pink-cheeked expression and groan. Not Hermione as well! I can’t believe she’s falling for his idiotic and childish act. He’s no more of a professor than Filch, and that might be even being mean to Filch!

Lockhart claps his hands and through the doors to the entrance hall march a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. Not just any dwarfs, however. Lockhart has them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps. Oh those poor creatures!

“My friendly, card-carrying cupids!” beams Lockhart. “They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn’t stop here! I’m sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you’re at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I’ve ever met, the sly old dog!”

Professor Flitwick buries his face in his hands. Snape is looking as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison. I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. At least it wasn’t only me that thought that Lockhart was a bumbling idiot of monumental proportions.

“Please, Hermione, tell me you weren’t one of the forty-six,” says Ron as we leave the Great Hall for our first lesson. Hermione suddenly becomes very interested in searching her bag for her schedule and doesn’t answer.

“Why Hermione? He’s not worth your time, the idiot will more surely blow you up then actually show you the correct usage of a DADA spell!” I cry flailing my arms about wildly to make my point clear. Hermione’s cheeks just color with embarrassment and anger.

Before we can get to our first lesson though, I’m flummoxed by the sound of a crudely played harp, and horribly off key deep singing voice of a dwarf. I glance down the hallway and see a bright cheeked Ariana standing next to my blushing brother as the dwarf sings to her horribly.

“Oh sweet valentine, how I wish you were mine. And that I could do more for you than this rhyme!” The dwarf sings but is cut off by Ariana dashing away from him abruptly. I don’t fail to notice the gales of giggles that are left behind in her wake. I can see by the crestfallen look on my brother’s face that he was in fact the one to commission the dwarf to sing for her.

I’m not exactly sure how I feel about my brother liking Ariana. It just doesn’t feel right to me. Maybe because we have practically grown up with her since we were babes? I shake the weird feeling off and push through the lingering crowd to stand next to my brother. I place my hand on his shoulder softly.

“Are you okay Luka?” I ask him softly. Luka snaps his mortified eyes to me, and I can see the hurt and sorrow in them. He pulls away from me sharply and I frown at him.

“I’m fine. I need to get to class Jamie, and you should as well. Don’t want Kingsley to get another letter now do you?” He snaps. I wince at the sharp tone in his voice, but do nothing as I watch my brother hurry away to his next class. I don’t really know how to help him in the matters of the heart, I haven’t even had someone that I fancy like that yet. The closest that I’ve gotten is Malfoy. I feel a shudder roll down my spine at the thought.

All day long, the dwarfs keep barging into our classes to deliver valentines, to the annoyance of our teachers, and late that afternoon as the Gryffindors are walking upstairs for Charms, one of the dwarfs catches up with Harry. “Oi, you! ’Arry Potter!” shouts a particularly grim-looking dwarf, elbowing people out of the way to get to Harry.

Harry doesn’t look too keen to be confronted in a hallway with first years present and one of them having to been Ginny Weasley at that. The dwarf, however, cuts his way through the crowd by kicking people’s shins, and reaches him before he managed to get two paces.

“I’ve got a musical message to deliver to ’Arry Potter in person,” he says, twanging his harp in a threatening sort of way.

“Not here,” Harry hisses, trying to escape. Oh poor Harry, but part of me is looking forward to seeing what kind of message that he’s going to get. Oh I know that that’s terrible but this is one of the most amusing things that’s happened all day!

“Stay still!” grunts the dwarf, grabbing hold of Harry’s bag and pulling him back.

“Let me go!” Harry snarls, tugging. With a loud ripping noise, his bag splits in two. His books, wand, parchment, and quill spill onto the floor and his ink bottle smashes over everything.

Harry scrambles around, trying to pick it all up before the dwarf starts singing, causing something of a holdup in the corridor. “What’s going on here?” A lazy drawl interrupts the moment of commotion and I fix my gaze on the leering face of Malfoy. Great this just can’t get any worse can it.

Ron is attempting to help Harry pick up with stuff while Hermione attempts to get the first years to move along, but all attention is still stuck right on Harry. I sigh well this is definitely not going to end well. “What’s all this commotion?” says another familiar voice as Percy Weasley arrives. This just keeps getting better.

Losing his head, Harry tries to make a run for it, but the dwarf seizes him around the knees and brings him crashing to the floor. Ouch, I wonder if the dwarf that my brother used with Ariana was this persistent in getting his message delivered?

“Right,” he says, sitting on Harry’s ankles. “Here is your singing valentine: His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,

His hair is as dark as a blackboard.

I wish he was mine, he’s really divine,

The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.”

 

Oh Merlin. I clap a hand over my mouth to keep from bursting into great gales of laughter along with the rest of the kids in the corridor. Harry himself even looks like he’s trying to keep from laughing. I can’t believe that someone sent this to Harry through singing dwarf. This has definitely been an entertaining day to say that least.

I happen to land my gaze on Ginny Weasley and suddenly my mirth at the situation disappears. She looks close to crying and humiliated. Oh no. She was that one who sent the singing valentine to Harry. That actually makes a lot of sense, and I feel bad for her. Harry doesn’t think of her that way, and I’m sure that he doesn’t think of anyone that way. I mean come on we’re only thirteen, well Harry is still twelve I will admit.

I miss the confrontation between Harry and Malfoy in which Harry had used expelliarmus on him, but I do catch back on when Malfoy turns his attention to Ginny. “I don’t think that Potter liked you valentine very much!” Malfoy sneers at her. Why that smarmy little weasel!

Ginny covers her face with her hands and runs into class. Snarling, Ron pulls out his wand, too, but Harry pulls him away. Ron doesn’t need to spend the whole of Charms belching slugs. For the rest of the day Harry is preoccupied with Riddle’s diary like always and the Weasley twins are singing ‘his eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad’ for too much.

Hermione had gone up to the dorms to console the poor girl, and I was afraid to do so for I wasn’t much good in the comfort department. You only had to ask almost anyone who knew me. I guess that I just haven’t grown into the touchy feely part of myself just quite yet. That night before I go to bed though, I focus on adding another charmed paper creation to my collection though. This time it is a dwarf with wings and a tutu carrying a harp, and threatening to club people with it.

Needless to say that when I lay my head down to rest that night, some pretty interesting dreams entertain me.


	13. Cornelius Fudge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 13-Cornelius Fudge

 

To say that the discovery that Harry had made while conversing with the diary was shocking was a huge understatement. Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets? There is no way that he could have possibly done that! The Hagrid that I know wouldn’t hurt a living creature, at least I think so... it makes me sick to my stomach that I’m even doubting my good friend.

I was also half furious at Harry for even thinking about talking to a diary that talks back without even telling us or having one of us there with him. That’s a whole brand new level of idiocy that he’s managed to reach! I guess that I’m really just upset that he didn’t take me with him. I haven’t totally lost my fondness for adventures you know. I’m just more cautious.

Besides, everyone in the wizarding world knows that objects that can think for itself without a noticeable brain is a huge warning sign that something is the matter. So that’s how I find myself stuck in the conversation of Harry explaining his midnight adventures. I think that Hermione is the most shocked out of all of us, but that in itself is not very surprising.

“Riddle might have gotten the wrong person.” Hermione says shaking her head. “Maybe it was some other monster that was attacking people. . . .”

“How many monsters d’you think this place can hold?” Ron asks dully his eyes glazing over in horror.

“We always knew Hagrid had been expelled,” starts Harry miserably. “And the attacks must’ve stopped after Hagrid was kicked out. Otherwise, Riddle wouldn’t have got his award.” Ron tries a different tack.

“Riddle does sound like Percy — who asked him to squeal on Hagrid, anyway?” He says his mood picking up at the thought of some sort of monster manipulator being like his elder brother. Percy is pretty bad, but I’m not sure that he’s that bad.

“But the monster had killed someone, Ron,” Hermione cries. I nod my head along with her. There’s nothing like a monster killing to get to the point of every argument.

“And Riddle was going to go back to some Muggle orphanage if they closed Hogwarts,” says Harry morosely. “I don’t blame him for wanting to stay here. . . .”

“You met Hagrid down Knockturn Alley, didn’t you, Harry?” I ask him softly not really wanting to entertain the idea.

“He was buying a Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent,” says Harry quickly shooting me a sharp look. I widen my eyes at him in defense. It wasn’t like he was doing all that great a job in believing Hagrid’s innocence before either. The four of us sat in uncomfortable silence for a little while. I was tapping my fingers against my knee nervously. This just doesn’t all fit together, and something still doesn’t sit right with me about that book.

“Well the only course of action seems to be going and asking Hagrid himself at this rate.” Hermione finally speaks up breaking the silence.

“That’d be a cheerful visit,” drawls Ron. “‘Hello, Hagrid. Tell us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?’” I couldn’t help but agree with Ron on this point. It would quite possibly kill Hagrid to think that the four of us could think him capable of such a terrible act. I let out a sigh, and flop back onto the couch letting my head rest in Hermione’s lap.

This just isn’t going to be my year is it. We seem to be trading one problem in for another. I just hope that we don’t get a problem that’s too big for us to handle one of these times. We decided to wait and see if another student has been attacked to go and confront Hagrid with such a grim idea. But surprisingly days go by and Harry hears no disembodied voices and the castle has started to clam down.

Well as calm as it could get when Fred, George, and I had placed stinging charms on Lockhart that would zap him whenever he talked about himself. Let’s just say that Lockhart was covered in tiny red dots by the end of his first lesson. It is now nearly four months since Justin and Nearly Headless Nick have been Petrified, and nearly everybody seems to think that the attacker, whoever it is, has retired for good.   Peeves has finally got bored of his “Oh, Potter, you rotter” song, Ernie Macmillan asks Harry quite politely to pass a bucket of leaping toadstools in Herbology one day, and in March several of the Mandrakes throw a loud and raucous party in greenhouse three. This makes Professor Sprout very happy.

“The moment they start trying to move into each other’s pots, we’ll know they’re fully mature,” she tells us one day. “Then we’ll be able to revive those poor people in the hospital wing.” Thank Merlin for small miracles. As much as I’m loathe to admit it I was starting to miss the annoying little guy who totes his camera around. I think that the school will be a little bit louder and more crowded as soon as Colin Creevey is released back into the halls.

* * *

 

Easter break finally rolled around and I couldn’t have been happier to see it come. Of course there was still lots of homework to do while on break, but at least I was free of the dungeon bat for a few days, and not seeing Lockhart but at dinner made for a great time in my book. There was a new thing that all second years had to endure though.

That was the selection of elective classes for next year. I know for a fact that Luka has been working himself into a tizzy over which two that he should choose. He’s unsure about which ones would be best for his future and make Kingsley proud. I on the other hand had no such problems. Hermione seemed to be the only one besides Neville Longbottom who was taking this whole thing seriously in Gryffindor.

She was having a hard time deciding which ones to take, and she was appalled by the lack of interest that the three of us were showing in our schedule making decisions. “It could affect our whole future,” she tells us as we pour over lists of new subjects, marking them with checks.

“I just want to give up Potions,” Harry groans.

“We can’t,” sulks Ron gloomily. “We keep all our old subjects, or I’d’ve ditched Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“But that’s very important!” cries Hermione, shocked.

“Not the way Lockhart teaches it,” counters Ron. “I haven’t learned anything from him except not to set pixies loose.”

“Please! That’s giving him too much credit!” I tell him rolling my eyes. I think its pretty safe to say that I’ve established my no Lockhart rule by now.

In the end I just go along with picking Divination and Care of Magical Creatures with Harry and Ron so that I won’t have to be alone in any of the classes that I take. I’m not sure exactly what I want to be when I grow older, but this will help in the meantime.

* * *

Gryffindor’s next Quidditch match is against Hufflepuff and I’m not the least bit ashamed to admit that I’m excited. I may love learning about magic a lot but nothing can ever beat the freedom of flaying on a broomstick. Wood of course has gone into crazy Quidditch dictator mode and we now have practice every night after dinner, so Harry and I barely have time between Quidditch and homework anymore.

It’s all worth it though because the team is coming together quite nicely and I’m sure that we’re going to win the house cup! Go Gryffindor! It was during one of my few rare and cherished breaks that all hell breaks loose. I’ve been sitting in the common room drawing in my sketch pad to relax my mind while Hermione sat next to me reading a small (by Hermione’s definition) textbook called _Ancient Runes Made Easy._

Let me tell you if the textbook is the size of a small toddler then the subject is in no way easy! I was interrupted from my valiant attempt in figuring out how to draw Hermione’s uncontrollable mass of hair correctly by panicked shouts coming up from the boy’s dormitory.

Before I even have time to wonder what’s the matter though, footsteps clamor down the stairs and Harry and Ron appear before us breathless. Harry’s cheeks are tinged red in anger, and Ron is pale. “What’s wrong?” I ask them abandoning my drawing. It was hopeless anyway.

“Our dorm… I didn’t even have my part of the room that messy this time…” Ron wallows. Hermione sets down her book to give her full attention to the two boys.

“It was ransacked. Everything was thrown about and messed up at least in my spot. Ron’s got a little messed up as well. Someone went through my things and stole from me.” Harry pants, clenching his hands into fists at his side. I cock my head to the side. Why would someone want to steal from Harry?

“No offense Harry but the most expensive thing that you own is your Nimbus 2000 and that’s out with all the other brooms. Why would someone want to steal from you?” I ask him.

“They took the book.” Ron bursts out unhelpfully.

“What book Ronald?” Hermione snaps upset about being interrupted in her studying time for a class that she’d not even going to be taking until next year.

“Riddle’s diary… it’s gone that’s what they took.” Harry says morosely. I flinch at the mention of the book. No one knew that Harry had that book besides the four of us, Myrtle, and whoever threw that book out in the first place.

“That’s not good.” I breathe out clutching my muggle drawing pencil tighter in my hand.

“That’s an understatement Jamie. Whoever took that book has to be a Gryffindor for no one else knows the password to our tower.” Hermione states gravely. Well if I wasn’t freaked and stressed out before I most certainly am now. What is it about this book that’s so valuable that someone would break into the boys’ dormitory and ransack Harry’s things in order to get at it? I don’t like this one bit, but I’m not going to rest until I find out. This just got a little bit personal.

* * *

We wake the next day to brilliant sunshine and a light, refreshing breeze.

“Perfect Quidditch conditions!” remarks Wood enthusiastically at the Gryffindor table, loading the team’s plates with scrambled eggs. “Harry, buck up there, you need a decent breakfast.”

“Jamie make sure to actually finish your plate this time, don’t want you passing out on your broom while in the air!” Oliver exclaims jauntily. Only Wood could be this enthusiastic about eating breakfast. I love that he only cares on the days that there’s an important Quidditch game to be had and then never again.

Harry was looking at everyone at our table like they were potential thieves that had stolen Riddle’s diary right out from under his nose. I didn’t see the point of interrogating every one of the Gryffindor’s because that would just make us suspicious and have the rest of our house hate our guts. We’d already gone through that one time, and I wasn’t fancying another.

Hermione of course is trying to get Harry to report the theft. Harry refused that idea by pointing out how he would have to explain why the diary was important, and he didn’t particularly want to bring up Hagrid’s expulsion fifty years ago. I don’t blame him on that one. I wouldn’t want to bring that up either. Poor Hagrid has already been through so much already.

After breakfast Ron and Hermione were walking us to the Quidditch pitch so that we could go and get our stuff so that we were ready for the game. That is until Harry stops dead in his tracks and all of the color leaves his face. “What is it Harry?” Ron asks concerned. I pale realizing what’s happening. No this can’t be going on. Why now of all times?

“Harry?” Hermione questions placing a light hand on his shoulder.

“The voice!” cries Harry, looking over his shoulder. “I just heard it again — didn’t you?” Ron shakes his head, wide-eyed. This is exactly what I didn’t want to have happen. Hermione, however, claps a hand to her forehead.

“Harry — I think I’ve just understood something! I’ve got to go to the library!”

And she sprints away, up the stairs. What’s going on with her now?

“What does she understand?” asks Harry distractedly, still looking around, trying to tell where the voice had come from.

“Loads more than I do,” says Ron, shaking his head.

“That’s a given, but why’s she got to go to the library?” I ask looking back after my departed friend. She looked like she had just came about some major discovery, and I’m curious to know what she had managed to catch that I had not. I may not be as smart as Hermione but I’m still pretty bright.

Our quiet and disturbing interlude is interrupted by the happy cheery voices of students coming out of the Great Hall and making their way to the Quidditch pitch. “You two better get moving,” says Ron. “It’s nearly eleven — the match —” At that the three of us make our way quickly over to the field. Once in the locker rooms, I throw on my pads and jersey quickly, grabbing my broom just in time for Oliver’s brief but demanding speech. “We can win this one so do everything in you power to make it happen.” He announced. It might have just been me but I was thinking that he sounded more and more like he was in the muggle army everyday.

The teams walk onto the field to tumultuous applause. Oliver Wood takes off for a warm-up flight around the goalposts; Madam Hooch releases the balls. The Hufflepuffs, who play in canary yellow, are standing in a huddle, having a last-minute discussion of tactics.

I was just mounting my broom when Professor McGonagall comes half marching, half running across the pitch, carrying an enormous purple megaphone. I seriously don’t like the looks of that.

“This match has been canceled,” Professor McGonagall calls through the megaphone, addressing the packed stadium. There are boos and shouts. I don’t understand. Oliver Wood, looking devastated, lands and runs toward Professor McGonagall without getting off his broomstick.

“But, Professor!” he shouts. “We’ve got to play — the Cup — Gryffindor —” Professor McGonagall ignores him and continues to shout through her megaphone:

“All students are to make their way back to the House common rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!”

What is going on? Something bad must have happened in order for all the students to be sent back to their dorms. It’s a Saturday morning for crying out loud. Professor McGonagall lowers her microphone, and beckons Harry and me over to her. What did I do this time? Did they find out who had thrown stink pellets into Snape’s dungeon?

“Pendragon, Potter… I think you’d better come with me…” She says. I honestly don’t think that they would have cancelled the game because of finding out who the perpetrator was of a few harmless pranks. Ron makes his way through the complaining crowd to us, and to Harry’s and my great shock McGonagall doesn’t snap at him.

“Yes, perhaps you’d better come, too, Weasley. . . .” Some of the students swarming around us are grumbling about the match being canceled; others look worried. The three of us follow Professor McGonagall back into the school and up the marble staircase. But we aren’t taken to anybody’s office this time.

“This will be a bit of a shock,” warns Professor McGonagall in a surprisingly gentle voice as we approach the infirmary. “There has been another attack . . . another double attack.” My heart leaps up into my throat upon hearing this. Why are we being brought here? They don’t let anyone in here anymore unless they’re really ill? Does this mean that we know the person? I can feel my hands getting clammy.

Madam Pomfrey is bending over a sixth-year girl with long, curly hair. I recognize her as the Ravenclaw that I’ve seen around when talking to my brother. She’s a prefect. And on the bed next to her is —

“Hermione!” Ron groans. I stop rooted to the floor where I’m standing. Hermione lays utterly still, her eyes open and glassy. No… this can’t be. That isn’t my best friend on that bed there. It must be a mistake. The world wouldn’t be as cruel as to do something like this to one of the best people that I know.

“They were found near the library,” explains Professor McGonagall. “I don’t suppose any of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to them. . . .” She holds up a small circular mirror in her hand. We shake our heads dejectedly. Hermione— I can feel tears falling down my cheeks but I don’t bother trying to wipe them away.

One of my best friends has been petrified and I can’t do anything to change that. “I will escort you back to Gryffindor Tower,” says Professor McGonagall heavily. “I need to address the students in any case.” Harry puts his arm around my shoulder and leads me away from Hermione’s bedside when I won’t move. Ron takes hold of my hand from my other side.

The three of us make our way up to the tower in quiet despair. I’m so sorry Hermione… I can’t believe I wasn’t there for you.

* * *

 

“All students will return to their House common rooms by six o’clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities.” Professor McGonagall reads out.

I don’t really hear what’s she’s saying. I’m too far gone by now to care. The tears are still racing down my face, and Harry and Ron haven’t let go of me even though we’re now back in the common room. I can feel the sympathetic gazes on us. They all knew Hermione. Now there’s no shadow of a doubt that Harry’s not the Heir of Slytherin. He’d never do this to his own best friend.

No one would. The Gryffindors pack inside the common room listen to Professor McGonagall in silence. She rolls up the parchment from which she had been reading and speaks in a somewhat choked voice, “I need hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed. It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about them to come forward.”

She climbs somewhat awkwardly out of the portrait hole, and the Gryffindors begin talking immediately. “That’s two Gryffindors down, not counting a Gryffindor ghost, one Ravenclaw, and one Hufflepuff,” says the Weasley twins’ friend Lee Jordan, counting on his fingers. “Haven’t any of the teachers noticed that the Slytherins are all safe? Isn’t it obvious all this stuff’s coming from Slytherin? The Heir of Slytherin, the monster of Slytherin — why don’t they just chuck all the Slytherins out?” he roars, to nods and scattered applause.

Percy Weasley is sitting in a chair behind Lee, but for once he doesn’t seem keen to make his views heard. He is looking pale and stunned. I feel about the same as he looks. “Percy’s in shock,” George tells us quietly. “That Ravenclaw girl — Penelope Clearwater — she’s a prefect. I don’t think he thought the monster would dare attack a prefect.”

I shake my head, and start up from the chair in which I was seated. My friends look up at me worriedly. “It doesn’t matter anymore!” I say desperately. I guess that I might have been a little louder then I thought, because all the noise dies down in the common room, and all eyes are on me.

“Jamie…” Ron says softly reaching his hand out for me but I flinch away.

“No Ron this isn’t right! So many people are hurt now and Hermione— well Mione’s gone now! I-I can’t lose anyone else!” I cry bringing my hand up to my mouth to try and contain the sob that’s threatening to break free. My eyes turn glassy with tears.

Everyone is looking at me with pitying looks except for Harry and Ron, their looks are filled with the same pain as mine, but I can’t take it. My body is starting to shake. I can’t be here anymore. Without a second glance back at everyone I turn on my heel and sprint out of the portrait hole. I don’t even care that the castle is now on lockdown or whatever it is. For all I care the monsters can come out and eat me.

I make my way to the infirmary in record time, and I’m actually surprised that the professors haven’t found me out. I go up to the door and push it open tentatively, surprised to find that it’s unlocked. I close it shut behind me quietly, and creep forward in the room going back to the bed that now holds Hermione.

I slip down in the chair beside her and raise a quivering hand to her frozen one. I lightly set my hand down on hers wincing at the cool touch of her skin. I bite my lip to stop its trembling and to contain the gasp of air that I desperately need. I don’t want to be found out just yet.

“I’m so sorry Mione. I didn’t want this to happen to you. I should have taken this whole Chamber of Secrets thing more seriously. Maybe if I had you wouldn’t be lying here. I’m going to make this better though. I’m not going to let whoever did this get away with it. I swear to you that.” I tell her looking into her open and unmoving brown eyes.

I let out a sigh, and slump back into my chair. What am I doing here? Hermione can’t hear me. I can’t help it though doing this makes me feel better. “It’s going to be lonely without you in the dorm. I don’t think that I can survive without you. If I have to listen to one more conversation about who is hotter Dean or Seamus I’m seriously going to throw your transfiguration book at them.” I tell her with a soft smile.

The only downside is that I can only imagine the fit that Hermione would throw about me throwing books about even if they’re directed at the terror girls. I will not call them twins because that would be an insult to all twins everywhere. I look over my best friend again, and feel my tears come again. This wasn’t how this was supposed to end.

I let a sob go and lean down on Mione. I let my tears fall onto the stiff material of her shirt. Even her clothes are frozen. I close my eyes and grip Hermione’s hand tighter. If I try hard enough I can almost trick myself into thinking that I can hear her heartbeat against my ear. I promise you Mione, I will find out who did this to you, and they will pay. That I can guarantee.


	14. Aragog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 14-Aragog

 

Summer is creeping over the grounds around the castle; sky and lake alike turn periwinkle blue and flowers large as cabbages burst into bloom in the greenhouses. But with no Hagrid visible from the castle windows, striding the grounds with Fang at his heels, the scene didn’t look right to us; no better, in fact, than the inside of the castle, where things were so horribly wrong.

After waking up from falling asleep next to Hermione and realizing that Madame Pomfrey was the one waking me up, I hadn’t been let back in to see Hermione. She was understanding of my pain and sadness but she wouldn’t let me in to see my friend again. It went expressly against the orders from the headmaster, or well it would have been if Dumbledore were still around.

That’s right people things have gone from bad worse around here. Harry and Ron told me all about their trip to see Hagrid after my breakdown over Hermione that very night. They explain about how Hagrid denied that it was him, and how the Minister of Magic himself Cornelius Fudge had come to Hogwarts to have Hagrid arrested and thrown into Azkeban.

I of course was rightfully ticked off, for Hagrid couldn’t have done that, and the only reason they were locking it up was so that he Minister could look like he was actually doing something right for once. That wasn’t even the end of the massive amounts of unfairness that unfolded that night.

Who else would have stepped in to get Dumbledore removed from his position as Headmaster of Hogwarts other then our own resident weasel’s father Lucius Malfoy. Merlin am I getting tired of that man, couldn’t we get a moments peace without him coming in and ruining the day?

Harry had then explained to me much to Ron’s unhappiness about Hagrid’s clue about following the spiders. Where to we still don’t know but, we now have the added problem of actually finding a spider in which to follow. There haven’t been a lot of them around recently, much to Ron’s happiness, and our displeasure.

I was getting antsy to find a way in which to help Hermione. I know that the mandrakes are being made for the people who have been petrified, but I still want to take down the person who’s done this to my best friend. I think that Harry is the most put out about Dumbledore being gone though. His last message to Harry was very cryptic.  

_I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. . . . Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it._

I don’t know about you but that’s fairly hard to figure out in my opinion. This all is not even mentioning the fact that the teachers are shepherding us from class to class in order to protect us. Most of the students like this, but for Harry, Ron, and I it only hampers our ability to figure this mystery out.

One person, however, seems to be thoroughly enjoying the atmosphere of terror and suspicion. Draco Malfoy is strutting around the school as though he has just been appointed Head Boy. We didn’t realize what he was so pleased about until the Potions lesson about two weeks after Dumbledore and Hagrid had left, when, sitting right behind Malfoy, we overhear him gloating to Crabbe and Goyle.

“I always thought Father might be the one who got rid of Dumbledore,” he says, not troubling to keep his voice down. “I told you he thinks Dumbledore’s the worst headmaster the school’s ever had. Maybe we’ll get a decent headmaster now. Someone who won’t want the Chamber of Secrets closed. McGonagall won’t last long, she’s only filling in. . . .”

Snape swept past Harry and Ron, making no comment about Hermione’s empty seat and cauldron.

“Sir,” speaks Malfoy loudly. “Sir, why don’t you apply for the headmaster’s job?” Oh that weasel has it coming to him. If Snape is being put in charge of Hogwarts then I’m out of here, future be damned. You couldn’t bribe me to stay with all the galleons in Gringotts!

I feel the grip that I have on the table in front of me tightly. “Now, now, Malfoy,” says Snape, though he can’t suppress a thin-lipped smile. “Professor Dumbledore has only been suspended by the governors. I daresay he’ll be back with us soon enough.”

“Yeah, right,” snarks Malfoy, smirking. “I expect you’d have Father’s vote, sir, if you wanted to apply for the job — I’ll tell Father you’re the best teacher here, sir —”

Snape smirks as he sweeps off around the dungeon, fortunately not spotting Seamus Finnigan, who is pretending to vomit into his cauldron.

I release a shaky breath and attempt to get control over myself. I can’t let this slimy prat get to me. It can’t be helped though, ever since Hermione’s petrification, I’ve been off. I hardly sleep most nights and that’s simply because I can’t stand it in my dorm. Lavender and Parvati attempt to be nice but, eventually they give up.

Rachel the other girl in our dorm only smiles and gives me understanding smiles. Most nights I find myself sleeping on one of the couches in the common room. Fred and George have found me there on quite a few mornings. I can tell that people are worried about me but I don’t know what to say.

How do you explain that with your best friend gone you’re heartbroken to have lost yet another person who means something to you? I don’t think that you can. “I’m quite surprised the Mudbloods haven’t all packed their bags by now,” Malfoy went on. “Bet you five Galleons the next one dies. Pity it wasn’t Granger —” Malfoy starts.

The bell rings at that moment, which is lucky; at Malfoy’s last words, Ron leaps off his stool, and in the scramble to collect bags and books, his attempts to reach Malfoy go unnoticed. The smarmy weasel is lucky that Harry had grabbed me by the arms because he wouldn’t still be standing there alive right now.

“Let me at him,” Ron growls as Dean hangs onto his arms. “I don’t care, I don’t need my wand, I’m going to kill him with my bare hands —”

“Stop it Harry! Didn’t you hear what he said about Hermione? He needs to pay!” I cry. Harry’s grip tightens around me.

“I know Jamie, but this is not how you do it. Malfoy will get his own all in good time. Think Jamie, Hermione wouldn’t want you getting expelled because of that no good cretin.” Harry tells me. I release a shaky breath and attempt to expel the anger that I’m feeling.

“Hurry up, I’ve got to take you all to Herbology,” barks Snape over the class’s heads, and off we march, with Harry, Ron, Dean, and I bringing up the rear, Ron still trying to get loose. It is only safe to let go of him when Snape has seen them out of the castle and we are making our way across the vegetable patch towards the greenhouses.

The bad mood that I’ve perpetually been in threatens to take me over. This day just can’t get any worse in my opinion. The Herbology class is very subdued; there are now two missing from their number, Justin and Hermione.

Professor Sprout sets us all to work pruning the Abyssinian Shrivelfigs. Ariana has set herself down in our group like she usually does. She’s been sticking to my side a lot more recently. I can tell that she’s worried about me. I don’t know what to say to her though, for I’m afraid that when I next open my mouth I’ll explode and I won’t like what comes out.

Soon Harry comes back to our table with Ernie MacMillan and Hannah Abbott. As it turns out Ernie apologizes for being a git to Harry, so at least one good thing happens today. “That Draco Malfoy character,” says Ernie, breaking off dead twigs, “he seems very pleased about all this, doesn’t he? D’you know, I think he might be Slytherin’s heir.”

“That’s clever of you,” snarls Ron, who doesn’t seem to have forgiven Ernie as readily as Harry.

“Do you think it’s Malfoy, Harry?” Ernie asks. Great not this again, I’m seriously not in the mood for the pompous git show.

“No,” says Harry, Ron, and I so firmly that Ernie, Hannah and Ariana startle. I can feel he worried gaze on me and it’s starting to chip away on what little sanity that I have left, so I divert my eyes to the ground. That’s when something catches my eye.

   Several large spiders are scuttling over the ground on the other side of the glass, moving in an unnaturally straight line as though taking the shortest route to a prearranged meeting. I snap my gaze up to Harry and toss a twig at him. He snaps his attention to me and I gesture out the window at the ground. It takes Harry a minute but he finally understands what I’m seeing.

Harry hits Ron over the hand with his pruning shears. “Ouch! What’re you —” Ron starts crossly. Harry points out the spiders, following their progress with his eyes screwed up against the sun.

“Oh, yeah,” breathes Ron, trying, and failing, to look pleased. “But we can’t follow them now —” Ernie, Hannah, and Ariana are watching us closely and oddly. Ariana is giving me that analyzing Dumbledore gaze that has seemed to increased tenfold since her grandfather has been kicked out. She’s been taking that pretty hard, especially since Malfoy has been taunting her.

Usually my brother would have stood up for her, but things have been awkward for the two of them ever since Valentine’s Day. Ariana had later sought out my brother and swiftly but not unkindly told him that she did not like him that way. She told him that she liked him only as a friend and that she hoped that they could still be friends.

I had to console my brother afterward. I’m not so sure if they’re ever going to get their friendship back to what they had it at before.

“Looks like they’re heading for the Forbidden Forest. . . .” Harry murmurs softly. Ron looks even unhappier about that.

At the end of the lesson Professor Sprout escorts the class to our Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. This is sure to wind up with me in a detention, the mood I’m in plus that imbecile and it will surely end in the defacing of one of the various Lockhart paintings around his classroom. Harry, Ron, and I lag behind the others so we can talk out of earshot.

“We’ll have to use the Invisibility Cloak again,” Harry tells us. “We can take Fang with us. He’s used to going into the forest with Hagrid, he might be some help.”

“Too bad we can’t leave now. I’d rather get lost in the Forbidden Forest than listen to Lockhart drivel.” I grumble crossly.

“Right,” says Ron, who was twirling his wand nervously in his fingers. “Er — aren’t there — aren’t there supposed to be werewolves in the forest?” he adds as we take our usual places at the back of Lockhart’s classroom. The only difference is that the seat next to Ron is now empty, my heart pangs sharply in my chest.

Preferring not to answer that question, Harry says, “There are good things in there, too. The centaurs are all right, and the unicorns . . .”

“I’m sure that we’re going to run into a tribe full of unicorns that will show us all the answers that we seek.” I mutter. Harry glares at me, and I advert my gaze, slightly ashamed that I’m acting like this but unable to stop myself.

Lockhart bounds into the room and the class stares at him. Every other teacher in the place is looking grimmer than usual, but Lockhart appears nothing short of buoyant.

“Come now,” he cries, beaming around him. “Why all these long faces?” People swap exasperated looks, but nobody answers.

“Don’t you people realize,” says Lockhart, speaking slowly, as though they were all a bit dim, “the danger has passed! The culprit has been taken away —”

“Says who?” cries Dean Thomas loudly.

“My dear young man, the Minister of Magic wouldn’t have taken Hagrid if he hadn’t been one hundred percent sure that he was guilty,” explains Lockhart, in the tone of someone explaining that one and one make two.

“Oh, yes he would,” says Ron, even more loudly than Dean.

“I flatter myself I know a touch more about Hagrid’s arrest than you do, Mr. Weasley,” snaps Lockhart in a self-satisfied tone. Ron goes to open his mouth again, but is stopped mid breath by the double kicks he receives from Harry and I.

“We weren’t there, remember?” Harry mutters. But Lockhart’s disgusting cheeriness, his hints that he has always thought Hagrid was no good, his confidence that the whole business is now at an end, irritated me so much that I yearn to throw Gadding with Ghouls right in Lockhart’s stupid face. Instead I sit there glancing at Hermione’s empty seat and tell myself that she really wouldn’t want to do that.

I divert my attention to a piece of paper when it’s passed to me. On the sheet are the words: Let’s do it tonight. I glance over at Harry and see the grim resolve on his face. Okay I’m ready to get this over with. I nod my head discreetly at him, and pass the note on to Ron.

Ron reads the message, swallows hard, and looks sideways at the empty seat usually filled by Hermione. The sight seems to stiffen his resolve, and he nods. Don’t worry Hermione we’ll find out who did this to you, one way or another.

* * *

 

I didn’t manage to get very far after class for a sight that I didn’t want to see stops me. Ariana is leaning against the opposite said of the corridor, and her gaze fastens on me the moment that I step out of the room. We have a little bit of free time until the teachers will all herd us back to our dormitories.

I don’t necessarily want to talk to Ariana, but if it gets me away from everyone else for a while then I’m willing to take the risk. When I approach her, Ariana steps away from the wall, and meets me halfway. “Jamie… do you think we can talk?” She asks softly. I shrug my shoulders and lead her down the corridors away from the mass of students expelling some pent up energy.

“What’s up Ariana?” I ask her, slowing to a stop near an open window to the grounds. I lean against the sill and stare out over the grounds. My eye drifts towards the forbidden forest. That’s where we’ll be going tonight. Of all the stupid things that we’ve done in the past almost two years this one will take the cake.

For all we know the monster lives there, and makes it’s way back into the castle. “I just want to see how you’re holding up… I know you’re hurting Jamie. Anyone with a pair of eyes can see that.” Ariana tells me.

“What do you want me to say Ariana? Do you want me to tell you that I’m devastated because I am! Do you want me to sit here and cry because I couldn’t protect my best friend, because I already do that! Do you want me to tell you that I’m so bloody angry at the world for taking so many people away from me because, YES I am horribly, bloody, stupidly, angry at the world!” I cry.

I can feel the sting of tears behind my eyes. Instead of scaring Ariana away with my outburst it seems to do the exact opposite of what I had originally planned. The look of understanding only grows in her eyes, until I have to look away, for I’m not sure that I want the comfort or understanding that’s in her eyes. Ariana understands, she’s lost bother her parents as well.

Before I can react I find myself in a strong hug. I’m so shocked that I don’t even realize the tears that are falling down my face. “Though it may not seem like it now Jamie, everything will be okay. Hermione will come back. The Mandrakes are almost ready for the potion. Soon enough Hermione will be back here with us telling you off for getting into such a tizzy over her.” Ariana tells me.

I sniff and shake my head. “You don’t know that for sure.” I say petulantly. I know that I’m being childish but this stuff happens far too much to me. I learned when I was younger that not all the people that you become attached to are going to be there for the long haul.

“No I don’t know that for sure, but I can feel it. Hermione will be back to beating us in every subject before we know it.” Ariana tells me with a smile. I give her a shaky one in return, and disentangle myself from her grasp. I take a few steps away and turn back to look at her.

“Hey Ariana?” I say. She turns around to look at me.

“Thank you, and for the record someday we’ll make it.” I tell her. I turn back around and head for my friends, but not before I catch the brilliant smile that lights up the other girl’s face.

* * *

 

The Gryffindor common room is always very crowded these days, because from six o’clock onward the Gryffindors have nowhere else to go. We also have plenty to talk about, with the result that the common room often doesn’t empty until past midnight.

Harry went to get the Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk right after dinner, and spent the evening sitting on it, waiting for the room to clear. Fred and George challenge Harry and Ron to a few games of Exploding Snap, and Ginny sits watching them, very subdued in Hermione’s usual chair. Harry and Ron keep losing on purpose, trying to finish the games quickly, but even so, it is well past midnight when Fred, George, and Ginny finally go to bed. I had sat there with my sketchbook attempting to draw the Weasley twins how I perceived them, identical but separate in a way that only I seemed to be able to notice.

We waited until we heard the last two doors close before Harry jumps up, and throws the invisibility cloak over the three of us. We climb carefully under the portrait hole, careful not to step on the cloak and trip us up before we even make it out of the castle.

I don’t fancy explaining to Professor McGonagall about why we were found outside of our dormitories when we’re not allowed. It is another difficult journey through the castle, dodging all the teachers. At last we reach the entrance hall, slide back the lock on the oak front doors, squeezing between them, trying to stop any creaking, and step out into the moonlit grounds.

“’Course,” starts Ron abruptly as we walk across the black grass, “we might get to the forest and find there’s nothing to follow. Those spiders might not’ve been going there at all. I know it looked like they were moving in that sort of general direction, but . . .” Ron says all this rather hopefully.

I can feel him already shaking from beside me. I don’t have a problem with spiders but even I’m not looking forward to going into the forbidden forest at night. Out of the three of us only Harry has been in there at all let alone at night.

We reach Hagrid’s house, sad and sorry-looking with its blank windows. When Harry pushes the door open, Fang goes mad with joy at the sight of us. Worried he might wake everyone at the castle with his deep, booming barks, I hastily feed him treacle toffee from a tin on the mantelpiece, which glue his teeth together. I feel bad but it had to be done.

Harry leaves the Invisibility Cloak on Hagrid’s table. There will be no need for it in the pitch-dark forest.

“C’mon, Fang, we’re going for a walk,” says Harry, patting his leg, and Fang bounds happily out of the house behind us, dashes to the edge of the forest, and lifts his leg against a large sycamore tree. I wish that I were as care free as him at the moment. Poor dog doesn’t know what he’s in for tonight.

Harry and I take out our wands as we approach the forest. “Lumos.” I murmur and the end of my wand lights up just enough to show us where we’re going. Harry follows my lead and does the same with his wand.

“Good thinking,” says Ron. “I’d light mine, too, but you know — it’d probably blow up or something. . . .” That’s just about one of the last things that we’d need to happen right now.

Harry taps Ron on the shoulder, pointing at the grass. Two solitary spiders are hurrying away from the wandlight into the shade of the trees.

“Okay,” Ron sighs as though resigned to the worst, “I’m ready. Let’s go.” I grab his hand, and give it a quick comforting squeeze before dropping it, and making my way forward behind Harry. He is the leader of this little quest since he’s the only one who has been in here before.

So, with Fang scampering around us, sniffing tree roots and leaves, we enter the forest. By the glow of Harry’s wand, we follow the steady trickle of spiders moving along the path. We walk behind them for about twenty minutes, not speaking, listening hard for noises other than breaking twigs and rustling leaves. Then, when the trees have become thicker than ever, so that the stars overhead are no longer visible, and our wands shine alone in the sea of dark, we see our spider guides leaving the path.

Harry pauses, trying to see where the spiders are going, but everything outside our little sphere of light is pitch-black. I’m really starting to not like this, and I’m fairly certain that Ron is only minutes from passing out in fright. “What d’you reckon?” Harry asks us.

“We’ve come this far,” sighs Ron.

“We need to do this for Hermione.” I remind them. So we follow the darting shadows of the spiders into the trees. We can’t move very quickly now; there are tree roots and stumps in our way, barely visible in the near blackness. I can feel Fang’s hot breath on my hand. More than once, we have to stop, so that Harry can crouch down and find the spiders in the wandlight.

We walk for what seems like at least half an hour, our robes snagging on low-slung branches and brambles. After a while, we notice that the ground seems to be sloping downward, though the trees are as thick as ever.

Then Fang suddenly lets loose a great, echoing bark, making the three of us jump out of our skins.

“What?” says Ron loudly, looking around into the pitch-dark, and gripping Harry’s and my elbow very hard. I get a funny feeling in my stomach that I’m not going to like whatever comes next.

“Harry…” I start.

“There’s something moving over there,” Harry breathes. “Listen . . . sounds like something big. . . .” We listen. Some distance to our right, the something big is snapping branches as it carves a path through the trees.

“Oh, no,” whimpers Ron. “Oh, no, oh, no, oh —”

“Shut up,” I hiss frantically. “It’ll hear you.”

“Hear me?” squeaks Ron in an unnaturally high voice. “It’s already heard Fang!” The darkness seems to be pressing on our eyeballs as we stand, terrified, waiting. There is a strange rumbling noise and then silence.

“What d’you think it’s doing?” says Harry.

“Probably getting ready to pounce,” whines Ron.

“Sh!” I hiss at them both. We wait, shivering, hardly daring to move.

“D’you think it’s gone?” Harry whispers.

“Dunno —” Ron says. Then, to our right, comes a sudden blaze of light, so bright in the darkness that we have to fling up our hands to shield our eyes. Fang yelps and tries to run, but gets lodged in a tangle of thorns and yelps even louder.

“Jamie! Harry!” Ron shouts, his voice breaking with relief. “Guys, it’s our car!”

“What?” I ask confused about what’s going on now.

“Come on!” Ron says ignoring our confusion. Harry and I blunder after Ron towards the light, stumbling and tripping, and a moment later we have emerged into a clearing.

Mr. Weasley’s car is standing, empty, in the middle of a circle of thick trees under a roof of dense branches, its headlights ablaze. As Ron walks, openmouthed, towards it, it moves slowly toward him, exactly like a large, turquoise dog greeting its owner.

“It’s been here all the time!” cries Ron delightedly, walking around the car. “Look at it. The forest’s turned it wild. . . .”

It indeed has. The sides of the car are scratched and smeared with mud. Apparently it has taken to trundling around the forest on its own. Fang doesn’t seem at all keen on it; he keeps close to me, and I can feel him quivering. I don’t particularly like that car either. I rub my arm at the memory.

“And we thought it was going to attack us!” says Ron, leaning against the car and patting it. “I wondered where it had gone!” Harry stuffs his wand back into his pocket, and I lower mine, but don’t put it away. I still don’t feel the greatest about everything that’s going on here.

Something doesn’t feel right. I almost feel like I’m being watched… and not just by an enchanted car. “We’ve lost the trail,” Harry says. “C’mon, let’s go and find them.”

Ron doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move. His eyes are fixed on a point some ten feet above the forest floor, right behind Harry and me. His face is livid with terror. “Ron?” I question, the bad feeling growing inside of me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I didn’t even have time to turn around. There is a loud clicking noise and suddenly I feel something long and hairy seize me around my middle and lift me off the ground, so that I am hanging facedown. This is not good.

Struggling, terrified, I hear more clicking, and see Ron, and Harry’s legs leave the ground, too, and hear Fang whimpering and howling — next moment, I am being swept away into the dark trees.

Head hanging, I see that what has hold of me is marching on six immensely long, hairy legs, the front two clutching me tightly below a pair of shining black pincers. Behind me, I can hear more of the creatures, no doubt carrying my friends. Shivers run down my spine.

I may be able to live with small spiders, but ones this big are too much even for me. What do they feed these things, growing potions from Snape’s dungeon? We are moving into the very heart of the forest. I can hear Fang fighting to free himself from a fourth monster, whining loudly, but I can’t yell even if I want to; I seemed to have lost my voice back with the car in the clearing.

I never knew how long I was in the creature’s clutches; I only know that the darkness suddenly lifts enough for me to see that the leaf-strewn ground is now swarming with spiders. Craning my neck sideways, I realized hat we have reached the ridge of a vast hollow, a hollow that has been cleared of trees, so that the stars shine brightly onto the worst scene have ever laid eyes on.

This is surely to give me nightmares for years to come. If I don’t make it out of here alive, I am so figuring out a way to murder Harry in the afterlife. Spiders. Not tiny spiders like those surging over the leaves below, spiders the size of carthorses, eight-eyed, eight-legged, black, hairy, gigantic.

The massive specimen that is carrying me makes its way down the steep slope toward a misty, domed web in the very center of the hollow, while its fellows close in all around it, clicking their pincers excitedly at the sight of its load.

I fall to the ground on all fours as the spider releases me. Harry, Ron, and Fang thud down next to me. Fang isn’t howling anymore, but cowering silently on the spot. Ron looks exactly like Harry and I feel. His mouth is stretched wide in a kind of silent scream and his eyes are popping.

I scramble next to Ron and grab his hand tightly, if not for his sake then for my own. This is enough to make me afraid of spiders for the rest of my life. I’ll never be able to look at them the same way again. I suddenly realize that the spider that has dropped me is saying something. It is been hard to tell, because he clicks his pincers with every word he speaks.

“Aragog!” it calls. “Aragog!” And from the middle of the misty, domed web, a spider the size of a small elephant emerges, very slowly. There is gray in the black of his body and legs, and each of the eyes on his ugly, pincered head is milky white. He is blind, but that’s not comforting.

“What is it?” he demands, clicking his pincers rapidly.

“Men,” clicks the spider who had caught Harry. I don’t even have it in me to be offended about being called a man I’m so scared out of my mind.

“Is it Hagrid?” asks Aragog, moving closer, his eight milky eyes wandering vaguely.

“Strangers,” clicks the spider who had brought Ron.

“Kill them,” clicks Aragog fretfully. “I was sleeping. . . .”

“We’re friends of Hagrid’s,” Harry shouts. Oh thank Merlin Harry is at least able to keep his wits about him. I’m not sure that the same could be said about me, and Ron… well I’m not so sure that he’ll ever speak again.

Click, click, click go the pincers of the spiders all around the hollow. Aragog pauses. “Hagrid has never sent men into our hollow before,” he says slowly.

“Hagrid’s in trouble,” I interrupt, breathing very fast. “That’s why we’ve come.” Okay maybe I can help out a little.

“In trouble?” says the aged spider, and I think I hear concern beneath the clicking pincers. “But why has he sent you?”

“They think, up at the school, that Hagrid’s been setting a — a — something on students. They’ve taken him to Azkaban.” Harry takes back over, for I’ve lost my voice again. Oh well I tried.

Aragog clicks his pincers furiously, and all around the hollow the sound is echoed by the crowd of spiders; it is like applause, except applause doesn’t usually make me feel sick with fear. “But that was years ago,” says Aragog fretfully. “Years and years ago. I remember it well. That’s why they made him leave the school. They believed that I was the monster that dwells in what they call the Chamber of Secrets. They thought that Hagrid had opened the Chamber and set me free.”

“And you . . . you didn’t come from the Chamber of Secrets?” I ask, feeling cold sweat on my forehead. This is one of the most terrifying things that I’ve ever done and I’ve jumped in front of Harry defending him from Quirrel/Voldemort before.

“I!” booms Aragog, clicking angrily. “I was not born in the castle. I come from a distant land. A traveler gave me to Hagrid when I was an egg. Hagrid was only a boy, but he cared for me, hidden in a cupboard in the castle, feeding me on scraps from the table. Hagrid is my good friend, and a good man. When I was discovered, and blamed for the death of a girl, he protected me. I have lived here in the forest ever since, where Hagrid still visits me. He even found me a wife, Mosag, and you see how our family has grown, all through Hagrid’s goodness. . . .”

If I wasn’t so terrified and mildly disgusted, I might have been touched by the story that I just heard. As it is I grip tighter to Ron’s hand, and grasp Harry’s with my free one. Fang nestles himself in close to Ron’s side. I can feel Ron shaking beside me.    “So you never — never attacked anyone?” Harry asks, summing up the last of his courage.

“Never,” croaks the old spider. “It would have been my instinct, but out of respect for Hagrid, I never harmed a human. The body of the girl who was killed was discovered in a bathroom. I never saw any part of the castle but the cupboard in which I grew up. Our kind like the dark and the quiet. . . .” Wait bathroom?

“But then . . . Do you know what did kill that girl?” asks Harry pushing on. “Because whatever it is, it’s back and attacking people again —”

His words are drowned by a loud outbreak of clicking and the rustling of many long legs shifting angrily; large black shapes shift all around us. This is not looking good.

“The thing that lives in the castle,” spits Aragog, “is an ancient creature we spiders fear above all others. Well do I remember how I pleaded with Hagrid to let me go, when I sensed the beast moving about the school.” This thing is scared of the monster in the school? What the bloody hell is living in my school?

“What is it?” says Harry urgently. More loud clicking, more rustling; the spiders seem to be closing in.

“We do not speak of it!” says Aragog fiercely. “We do not name it! I never even told Hagrid the name of that dread creature, though he asked me, many times.” This is not good… not good at all. Why does it seem like we’re about to become spider food?

Aragog seems to be tired of talking. He is backing slowly into his domed web, but his fellow spiders continue to inch slowly towards us. Oh because we are going to be spider food.

“We’ll just go, then,” Harry calls desperately to Aragog, hearing leaves rustling behind us.

“Go?” says Aragog slowly. “I think not. . . .”

“But — but —” I stutter knowing its hopeless.

“My sons and daughters do not harm Hagrid, on my command. But I cannot deny them fresh meat, when it wanders so willingly into our midst. Good-bye, friends of Hagrid.” Well this isn’t how I pictured my life ending. Oh no, I’ve left my brother alone again. We can’t handle losing anyone else in my family.

We spin around and I grab my wand from my cloak pocket. It’s no use though a massive wall of black spiders greets us. Oh well. At least they can say that I didn’t go willingly. I’m prepared to take just as many of these beasts with me. Before I can act a loud, long note sounds, and a blaze of light flames through the hollow.

Mr. Weasley’s car is thundering down the slope, headlights glaring, its horn screeching, knocking spiders aside; several are thrown onto their backs, their endless legs waving in the air. The car screeches to a halt in front of Harry, Ron, and I and the doors fly open. Never have I ever been so happy to see this flying death trap before! If I wasn’t about to die I think I would kiss it. I jump in the back without another thought.

“Get Fang!” Harry yells, diving into the front seat; Ron seizes the boarhound around the middle and threw him, yelping, into the back of the car next to me — the doors slam shut — Ron didn’t touch the accelerator but the car doesn’t need him; the engine roars and we are off, hitting more spiders. We speed up the slope, out of the hollow, and we are soon crashing through the forest, branches whipping the windows as the car winds its way cleverly through the widest gaps, following a path it obviously knew.

My heart is in my throat and I’m gripping onto the front seat for dear life. It doesn’t help that I’m getting partially crushed by a large boarhound. I glance sideways at Ron. His mouth is still open in the silent scream, but his eyes aren’t popping anymore.

“Are you okay?” I ask him finally finding my voice. Ron stares straight ahead, unable to speak.

They smash our way through the undergrowth, Fang howling loudly in the back seat, and I see the side mirror snap off as we squeeze past a large oak. After ten noisy, rocky minutes, the trees thin, and I can thankfully see patches of sky again.

The car stops so suddenly that we are nearly thrown into the windshield. We have reached the edge of the forest. Fang flings himself at the window in his anxiety to get out, and when Harry opens the door, he shoots off through the trees to Hagrid’s house, tail between his legs. I feel like doing exactly the same thing, but I’m not quite sure if my legs will even work.

Harry steps out of the car on shaky legs, and I reluctantly open my door, and step out as well. My legs wobble violently and threaten to give out, but Harry steadies me before that happens. “You okay Jamie?” He asks me worriedly.

“I… I don’t ever want to meet another one of Hagrid’s pets.” I say. Harry grins weakly and nods his head to me in agreement. Ron finally joins us in a minute, still looking rather ghostly pale. Harry gives the car a grateful pat before it reverses out of view back into the forest. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to go back in there.

Harry goes back to Hagrid’s hut to fetch his invisibility cloak so that we can sneak back into the castle. I wait outside with Ron, trying not to throw up myself as he’s violently sick in Hagrid’s pumpkin patch. This has been a long night and a pretty horrible one if I don’t say so myself.

“Follow the spiders,” says Ron weakly, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “I’ll never forgive Hagrid. We’re lucky to be alive.”

“I bet he thought Aragog wouldn’t hurt friends of his,” I say attempting to defend Hagrid.

“That’s exactly Hagrid’s problem!” cries Ron, thumping the wall of the cabin. “He always thinks monsters aren’t as bad as they’re made out, and look where it’s got him! A cell in Azkaban!” He is shivering uncontrollably now. I can’t exactly deny the truth in his words.

“What was the point of sending us in there? What have we found out, I’d like to know?” Ron gripes further.

“That Hagrid never opened the Chamber of Secrets,” says Harry, throwing the Cloak over Ron and me, prodding him in the arm to make him walk. “He was innocent.”

Ron gives a loud snort. Evidently, hatching Aragog in a cupboard isn’t his idea of being innocent. Its not exactly mine either but I still love the big fella. As the castle looms nearer Harry twitches the Cloak to make sure our feet are hidden, then pushes the creaking front doors ajar. We walk carefully back across the entrance hall and up the marble staircase, holding our breath as we pass corridors where watchful sentries were walking. At last we reach the safety of the Gryffindor common room, where the fire has burned itself into glowing ash.

The three of us throw the cloak off, and collapse into chairs around the empty fire. “Never again. Never again Harry, I’m not stepping foot inside that forest unless its for a really good reason.” I tell him as firmly as my still trembling voice can allow.

Harry nods his head in understanding and Ron looks at me like I’m mental. “I won’t ever set foot back in that forest even if someone was in there offering a millions galleons to whoever bothered going!” He exclaims.

I start thinking over the conversation that we’d had with Aragog before he tried to have his children eat us. “Guys, that girl who died! Aragog said she was found in a bathroom. Harry and Ron give me blank looks. “What if she never left the bathroom? What if she’s still there?” I tell them. I watch as slowly the understanding looks light up their eyes.

“You don’t think — not Moaning Myrtle?” Ron says incredulously. I nod my head, and Harry gives us a triumphant grin.

“Well there’s not much that we can do tonight. Let’s get some rest and then talk to her tomorrow.” Harry decides. I nod my head and stifle back the yawn that had threatened to break through. I bid the boys goodnight, and snuck upstairs to change into my griffin pajamas, only to sneak right back downstairs with my blanket and pillow, so that I can sleep on the couch.

It still doesn’t feel right up there without Hermione. I close my eyes and try to fend off the sure to be nightmares of gigantic spiders. It looks like I have a date to talk with this increasingly infuriating and intriguing ghost.


	15. The Chamber of Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 15-The Chamber of Secrets

 

“All those times we were in that bathroom, and she was just three toilets away,” says Ron bitterly at breakfast next day, “and we could’ve asked her, and now . . .” I was feeling along the same lines as Ron was.

It has been hard enough trying to look for spiders. Escaping our teachers long enough to sneak into a girls’ bathroom, the girls’ bathroom, moreover, right next to the scene of the first attack, was going to be almost impossible.

But something happened in our first lesson, Transfiguration, that drives the Chamber of Secrets out of our minds for the first time in weeks. Ten minutes into the class, Professor McGonagall tells us that our exams will start on the first of June, one week from today.

“Exams?” howls Seamus Finnigan. “We’re still getting exams?” Surely she has to be joking. I like school well enough but exams at a time like this is just wrong!

There is a loud bang behind Harry and I as Neville Longbottom’s wand slips, vanishing one of the legs on his desk. Professor McGonagall restores it with a wave of her own wand, and turns, frowning, to Seamus.

“The whole point of keeping the school open at this time is for you to receive your education,” she says sternly. “The exams will therefore take place as usual, and I trust you are all studying hard.” Yeah… that really hasn’t been happening what so ever.

There is a great deal of mutinous muttering around the room, which makes Professor McGonagall scowl even more darkly.

“Professor Dumbledore’s instructions were to keep the school running as normally as possible,” she snaps. “And that, I need hardly point out, means finding out how much you have learned this year.”

I look down at the pair of white rabbits I am supposed to be turning into slippers. What have we learned so far this year? I can’t seem to think of anything that would be useful in an exam. How to survive Hogwarts without succumbing to a dastardly fate on the other hand, that I can do!

Ron looks as though he’d just been told he had to go and live in the Forbidden Forest. “Can you imagine me taking exams with this?” he asks us, holding up his wand, which had just started whistling loudly.

I shake my head. “You seriously need to get that replaced Ron. I don’t think that your mum is going to like you failing all your exams flat out.” I tell him sadly. This year just can’t stop getting worse can it?

* * *

Three days before our first exam, Professor McGonagall makes another announcement at breakfast. “I have good news,” she says, and the Great Hall, instead of falling silent, erupted.

“Dumbledore’s coming back!” several people yell joyfully.

“You’ve caught the Heir of Slytherin!” squeals a girl at the Ravenclaw table. I wish that were the case.

“Quidditch matches are back on!” roars Wood excitedly. Ever the optimist that one, as long as it has to do with Quidditch.

When the hubbub has subsided, Professor McGonagall says, “Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last. Tonight, we will be able to revive those people who have been Petrified. I need hardly remind you all that one of them may well be able to tell us who, or what, attacked them. I am hopeful that this dreadful year will end with our catching the culprit.”

There is an explosion of cheering, me included. That means that we can finally get Hermione back! I glance over at the Slytherin table and am not at all surprised to see that Draco Malfoy hasn’t joined in. Ron, however, is looking happier than he’s looked in days.

“It won’t matter that we never asked Myrtle, then!” he says to us. “Hermione’ll probably have all the answers when they wake her up! Mind you, she’ll go crazy when she finds out we’ve got exams in three days’ time. She hasn’t studied. It might be kinder to leave her where she is till they’re over.”

Yes I do believe that Hermione will have a heart attack and drop dead once realizing that exams are so close to happening. Just then, Ginny Weasley comes over and sits down next to Ron. She looks tense and nervous, and I notice that her hands are twisting in her lap.

“What’s up?” says Ron, helping himself to more porridge.

Ginny doesn’t say anything, but glances up and down the Gryffindor table with a scared look on her face that reminds me of someone, though I can’t think of who at the moment. I also feel guilty, because Ginny and I get along well but I’ve been fairly wrapped up in myself ever since coming back to Hogwarts.

I haven’t been the greatest friend, and I feel bad now. I will make it right though. Things are looking up again, and Hermione will be back with us by tomorrow! “Spit it out,” snaps Ron, watching her.

I suddenly realize who Ginny looks like. She is rocking backward and forward slightly in her chair, exactly like my brother Luka does when he is teetering on the edge of revealing forbidden information. He always caves in case you were wondering. I’ve gotten into more trouble because of him then I care to admit.

“I’ve got to tell you something,” Ginny mumbles, carefully not looking at Harry.

“What is it?” said Harry. Ginny looks as though she can’t find the right words.

“What?” asks Ron. Ginny opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Harry leans forward and speaks quietly, so that only Ginny, Ron, and I can hear him.

“Is it something about the Chamber of Secrets? Have you seen something? Someone acting oddly?” Harry probes her.

Ginny draws a deep breath and, at that precise moment, Percy Weasley appears, looking tired and wan. “If you’ve finished eating, I’ll take that seat, Ginny. I’m starving, I’ve only just come off patrol duty.”

Ginny jumps up as though her chair has just been electrified, gives Percy a fleeting, frightened look, and scampers away. Percy sits down and grabs a mug from the center of the table.

“Percy!” says Ron angrily. “She was just about to tell us something important!” Percy pales but I pay him no attention. I’m more worried about the youngest of the Weasley clan.

“You guys go ahead and eat. I’m going to go check on her.” I tell them. Before any of the boys can protest I shoot up from my seat, and out of the Great Hall. Before I can get too far though, Ariana Dumbledore catches me by the arm. She has a pensive look on her face that she often gets.

“Jamie, what’s going on? You have this look on your face that usually leads to nothing good.” She tells me worriedly. I smile softly at her, and I honestly could see that there would be upsides to having the youngest Dumbledore as an official friend, but I’m much too busy at the moment to ponder that further.

“I’m fine Ariana. Just going to help a friend out. I’ll admit I haven’t been the greatest by being preoccupied but I swear to be better!” I tell her, shimmying out of her grasp and race up the staircase after the retreating redhead. I’m positive that she went this way but I can’t be a hundred percent sure.

After going up a couple of flights of stairs I catch a flash of orange, and dash down the hallway after the girl. Finally after a minute I’m able to grab her by the cloak sleeve and pull her to a stop. I’m panting and that’s surprising considering all of the exercise that I’ve been doing recently.

“Ginny! Slow down! Are you okay?” I ask her. I can see the pools of water gathering in her eyes, and the tear stains on her cheeks. “I’m sorry about Percy. He’s being a big git I understand.” I tell her softly.

Ginny’s lower lip wobbles and my heart breaks slightly for the girl. It must be so hard for the youngest of seven kids and even worse is that she’s the only girl of the family. Her brothers must think that they can push her around. I had gotten to be friends with the girl over the summer, and I know that she’s something not to be messed with, but still.

“Jamie… it’s all just a mess. You shouldn’t be here right now… y-you’re not safe!” She cries out. I scrunch my nose up, and cock my head to the side. That’s a rather odd thing to say.

“What do you mean I’m not safe? Ginny everything will be okay Professor Sprout and Madame Pomfrey are going to cure all the petrified people. Hermione will be back by tomorrow.” I tell her. Ginny shakes her head violently and a few more tears leak out of her eyes.

“You don’t understand! I did this! I’m going to get you into trouble! You shouldn’t have followed me!” She shouts hysterically. Okay now she’s starting to scare me a little. I take a good look around me and realize that we’re in the corridor where Mrs. Norris was found. Myrtle’s bathroom is only a few feet away.

“Ginny what are you talking about? Do you actually know something about the Chamber of Secrets? Does Myrtle have anything to do with this?” I ask her lowering my voice even though we’re the only two in the hall. Ginny’s body stiffens, and I’m afraid that I’ve said the wrong thing for the moment but suddenly Ginny’s hand is around my wrist, and she’s tugging me into the bathroom.

I’m not sure exactly what I’m expecting but as soon as the door swings shut behind us, her grip on my wrist becomes like iron. I wince, and attempt to extract myself from her grasp. “Ginny what is it. You can let go. I’m here for you remember, I want to help.” I tell her, attempting to keep the beginnings of the panic that I’m feeling out of my voice.

“You should have stayed away, you should have minded your own business Jamie. Ginny didn’t want for it to have to come to this. She tried to keep you safe.” Ginny tells me. Wait… why is she talking about herself in the third person here? What’s going on?

“Ginny— what” but before I’m able to get out a whole sentence there’s a searing pain to my head, and I feel my body crumble to the floor. The last thing that I can remember before the world goes black is the vision of a cruelly smiling Ginny before my vision swirls away into blackness.

* * *

 

The first thing that I recognize is the pain, well the pain and then the smell for wherever I am this place reeks to high hell. Another is that I’m cold, so cold that it feels like my bones are beginning to crack at the lack of warmth coming from them. I also feel wet like I was in water but I’m not anymore.

Okay Jamie you can do this. We’ve been in far worse situations than this before and we’ve made it out alive, the blinding pain erupting behind my left eye interrupts my mental pep talk to myself. Okay so maybe this isn’t going to be that easy. I just need to get one eye open.

Come on…. you can do it… just one eye! I manage to pry my right eye open, and I’m greeting with a dimly lit room, but my vision still feels funny. I start to move my limbs, and I have to let out a low groan at the movement. I feel like my body has been thrown around like an old sack doll that I used to have, before my brother used it in one of his ‘experiments’. It’s safe to say that I never got the doll back in one piece.

“Oh Merlin! Jamie!” A hushed whispered voice cries. I manage to slowly turn my head it time, to watch a disheveled Ginny Weasley scoot closer to me. I inch my body away from her painfully. As much as she may look like little Ginny Weasley she’s not. There’s nothing that’s right about that girl.

“You’re… you’re not Ginny. S-something… else… just not Ginny.” I croak attempting to regain the power of speech. Tears fall down her face and she hangs her head in shame, fiddling with her dirty rust colored hands.

“I know… sometimes I’m not anymore. I wake up and I’m not where I was before. I don’t remember what happened between the time of losing consciousness and waking back up again. I do remember you though… you came after me. You wanted to help. You shouldn’t have he wanted to lure Harry, but you’re just a treat.” She says hollowly.

With my still fuzzy head not a lot of this is making sense at the moment. “What do you mean…” I trail off getting a funny feeling rolling down my spine.

“She means that I wanted to have another conversation with Harry Potter.” A soft male voice rings out around the dimly lit chamber. I force myself into a sitting position painfully, and meet the gaze of a pale boy a few feet in front of me. His dark black hair is impeccably combed, and he’s wearing Hogwarts robes, but they look different from the ones that both Ginny and I are wearing, and that’s not even the difference in house seal. A green and silver Slytherin snake adorns his breast pocket.

“You’ve talked to Harry before?” I question. This doesn’t make sense Harry would have mentioned having a conversation with a Slytherin before especially one who looks to be about sixteen. The upperclassmen don’t usually talk to the lower classes unless they’re family or prefects.

“Yes he’s a remarkably insightful young man, with a curiosity for the world around him, and how it got to be. He came to me seeking questions of the past, and who am I to turn away another knowledge seeking student.” The boy says. Another shot of pain throbs through my skull, and I wince.

“You’re Tom… Tom Riddle. Harry found your diary in the girl’s toilet. Someone tried to get rid of you.” I tell him. Ginny beside me goes incredibly pale, and her eyes glaze over in a glass look. I would be afraid that she’s going into shock if it weren’t for the incredible shaking that her body is going through.

“You are smart Jamie. Very smart, people around you don’t seem to quite grasp the full extent of it though. You don’t flaunt your knowledge like your brother does or even your best friend Hermione. You prefer to help along where you can, and not draw too much attention to yourself. This is a very unusual trait for a Pendragon to posses.” Tom tells me taking a step closer to us.

Ginny wraps her arm around my right arm, and buries her face into my shirt, like she doesn’t want to be seen anymore. “How— how do you know that? How do you know these people?” I demand. Tom chuckles softly and leans down in a crouch before me.

His coal black eyes burn with intelligence and something more that I’m not quite sure of. I’m not sure that I even want to know.

“All your questions will be answered in time, all in good time. The reason that you’re here Jamie Pendragon is to get answers. I do understand that poor Myrtle that insufferable ghost is filling your head with all sorts of confusing facts. Well, I can put them all together properly, because I was there.” He explains.

I bite down on my lower lip. “The first Chamber of Secrets attacks were fifty years ago when you were a student here. How can you still be looking like a sixteen-year-old? That doesn’t make sense, and why bother helping Harry and me out. What’s in it for you?” I ask him unsure if I like where this is going.

As much as he looks friendly and welcoming, I have the lump the size of a small walnut on my forehead and I can’t open my left eye. I can’t see it but I’m pretty sure that I have a decent bruise forming on my forehead as well. Not to mention the whole kidnapping part of this whole scenario. I can’t even make out where we are exactly. The only thing that’s keeping me sane is the throbbing ache in my head, and the panicked breathes of the girl behind me.

I can’t let my friend get hurt. It looks like she has been traumatized for a while. I’m not going to let that happen again. “See I knew that I liked you. The reason that I still look like a teenage boy is because I am a mere memory of my teenage self recorded and kept in this diary, forever to be young and in school. As for your second question the answer is far easier to understand. One gets lonely after being stuck in a book with no one else to talk to but the people that were recorded with you at that time.” Riddle explains.

I don’t like his answers. They just seem off, no book should be able to have a manifestation of its author like that. I wish not for the first time that I had Hermione back at my side. She would have been able to tell me whether or not to trust this boy. I’m pretty sure that I know the answer myself though. I can feel a warm wet against the back of my neck.

Ginny is crying again, and shaking violently now, she’s frightened. I’m beginning to believe that it’s for a good reason. I have to keep him distracted. If he’s focused on me, then he won’t have any reason to go for Ginny. Come on Harry, Ron, I know that you’re looking for us, so please get here in time!

“Okay so what is it that you want to tell me exactly. Its not like I don’t know my family history completely you know. My family is the most documented family in the history of wizarding kind, we span back to Merlin himself.” I tell him summoning up my knowledge from dreary etiquette lessons.

Riddle smiles at me with a flash of bright white teeth. “Yes I’m quite well aware of your family’s impressive history, but the thing is that history books only tell people what they want. You do not get all of the story, only half of it. All of the noble deeds that your family has committed, well lets just say that some of the nastier ones are swept under the rug.” Tom declares, throwing his arms out wide.

A cold fist begins to form itself in my stomach. “All families have their bad times.” I tell him. Riddle just grins at me and shakes his head patronizingly.

“That is true Jamie, but not all families have made as bad choices as yours has. For the sake of time and clarity I’ll limit myself to the ones closest to you in age. We’ll start with your grandparents, Rowan and Gwendolyn Pendragon. See I happened to go to school with your grandparents.” Riddle tells me.

What he says adds up. Myrtle went to school with my grandmother, and Myrtle died fifty years ago in the Chamber of Secrets incident. Riddle was alive at the time so, so far he makes sense. “Rowan Pendragon was an arrogant man, a Ravenclaw if I’m not mistaken. Many of your family has descended from the Ravenclaw house, except for you Jamie.” Tom says.

“Rowan was popular and gregarious, every girl wanted to date him and every boy wanted to be him. He was drawn to your mother Gwendolyn Sommers just because he couldn’t have her. She was dating another boy at the time, nice fellow. No matter what he would give her, or what promises he would spin she wouldn’t listen.”

“By the time that they were out of school your grandfather went to work with his father Roarke Pendragon in the ministry. Gwendolyn went on to marry the boy who was her school love. Not even two years later had the man died. Rowan had risen through the ranks at the ministry and become quite a powerful man now in the aftermath of his parent’s deaths.”

“Supposedly Rowan had changed into a better person though for a year later he and Gwen were married, and expecting a child. Now I’m telling you this ghastly little love story so that you get a picture of what kind of people were raising your father.” Riddle tells me looking me in the eye. I nod my head minutely in understanding.

So far nothing is really all that shocking to me. I do know a fair amount about my family’s history and I’d long ago given up on the idea that all people marry because they are in love. The only people I can think of being that way are my parents, Harry’s parents, and Ron’s parents.

“So their child was born a gloriously healthy robust baby boy. My Rowan was so proud to have a son, his father had told him before that a pansy like him was never going to have an heir worth of the Pendragon name. To prove his father wrong and to spite him, he named him after his father’s father the great and noble Augustus Pendragon.” Riddle explains with a cruel smile.

“Wait! My father’s name is not Augustus! His middle name isn’t that either! You have you facts wrong Riddle.” I tell him. Tom just shakes his head and tuts at me like I’m a small child not grasping the basics of a simple problem.

“I thought that I already told you that there are facts that history books leave out of their stories Jamie. Dear old Augustus Pendragon your uncle is one of them, and if you let me get on with my story I will explain it to you.” Riddle tells me. I snap my mouth shut, and glare at the boy standing in front of me.

“Very well now. Rowan and Gwen were thrilled to have a son and they were a happy family for three years, until Gwen discovered that she was pregnant yet again. Now Jamie here is the one that you were expecting. They had another son, this one was strong and vibrant, and Gwen named him Daniel after her father. See Jamie your father is here in my story as well, do not fret.” Tom tells me. I grit my teeth in order to hold back a crude remark at him.

“Thus the Pendragon family was complete and lived in, I guess what you could call happiness until Augustus was ready to go to Hogwarts for the first time. Your father Daniel was eight when life started changing for your family. Augustus was a smart, bright boy, who had a natural talent for magic, and wanted to know all about it. Gwen and dear old Rowan were positive that he was going to be a Ravenclaw like his father, not any of the other houses or a Gryffindor like his mother.”

“When young Augustus got to the castle and was up at the sorting hat everyone thought that they knew for sure who he was and where he would be, but as it turns out, no one really knew Augustus at all, not the students, and staff, and least of all not his own parents. I do believe that your father knew about him though.”

“When the sorting hat sat upon Augustus’ head it declared him a Slytherin. To say the least everyone was shocked, but not Augustus. He was sorted exactly where he believed that he belonged. That was the event that altered the course of your family. Your grandparents were floored they didn’t understand why their son was put into my house but, what was done was done. There is no way to change a house once it has been declared.”

“Augustus thrived in the Slytherin house mind you. He was the brightest pupil his age. Then along came Daniel when it was time to attend Hogwarts. Your father of course was far easier to sort, and he was proudly welcomed into the Ravenclaw house. Life was good and went of for a few years. Augustus and Daniel grew, and it was in Daniel’s fourth year and Augustus’ seventh year that tragedy struck.”

“Gwendolyn your grandmother died, or more like she was murdered by one of the Dark Lord’s followers for she was too loud in her resistance of what he stood for. At this point is where your family’s history becomes completely rewritten, so that no one could understand the great shame that had come across the Pendragon house. Your father Daniel was devastated; his mother was the only family member that he liked. Your grandfather Rowan was angry for your grandmother never headed his words, and went about the quiet existence that she should have.”

“Now Augustus was the interesting part of this story. Handsome, smart, cunning, Augustus was approving of the death of his mother. To him no one should actively work against the Dark Lord, even the once mighty Pendragon family.” Riddle explains.

No. That’s not possible. My family has not been messed up in all of the Death Eaters business. The Dark Lord has nothing to do with us except killing my parents. “You’re lying Riddle. You’re just trying to get into my head, but I won’t let you. I know my family’s past and Voldemort is not in it!” I spit at him. I watch as Riddle’s face twitches at the mention of Voldemort’s name out loud.

“You know nothing about the Order of the Dark Lord little girl, and you know nothing of he world. All these people around you who say that they’re protecting you, and sheltering you are really there to deceive you. Make it so that you don’t know the cruel hardships that actually make up the real world!” He snaps.

I flinch away, and Ginny’s grasp in my shirt tightens. At least her tears have stopped. I’m not sure what to take of all this information that he’s giving me, parts of it are true but others don’t make sense. “Augustus declared his allegiance to the Dark Lord after graduation from Hogwarts. The wizarding world was shocked, and the fact tore up old Rowan. His eldest boy, his first pride and joy had turned out all wrong.”

“Even being the now broken man that he is, he poured all of his energy into making sure that his youngest son Daniel was taken care of and knew the right path. He needn’t of worried for Daniel was appalled by his brother’s actions. Of course by Daniel’s sixth year he had become hopelessly smitten by the beguiling powers of one Alexis Marshall a halfblood Gryffindor who was an expert charms student. She was wild, funny, and so full of life, that there was no way that he could not fall in love with her.” Riddle says all this in a way that makes me believe that he finds the love between my parents juvenile and disgusting.

“She felt the same way, and upon graduation they got married and joined the resistance against the Dark Lord. Idealistic fools if you ask me, but never mind that. A year into their new lives together, Rowan Pendragon is killed in a home invasion by supporters of Lord Voldemort. The one to have cast the killing curse was your uncle Augustus.”

“Enraged that his brother would have killed their own father, Daniel vowed to bring justice for his slaughtered family. He vowed to bring the Dark Lord and Augustus to justice. Two years later your mother Alexis became pregnant. The mere fact of her pregnancy was enough to change your father’s priority. He became focused on the protection of his growing family. Vengeance and justice would have to wait because of you.”

“Alexis Pendragon gave birth to twins on the 11th of November that year, a boy and a girl. It was shocking that she had given birth to a girl for in the last seven generations of Pendragons all of the offspring had been male. Daniel and Alexis named their children Jamie and Luka Pendragon. And for the next three years of your lives you were in hiding.”

“The world was supposedly safe because of Harry Potter the baby that had killed the Dark Lord months after you were born, but that didn’t stop your father from hiding your family. Augustus was still roaming free, and he did not want to risk his family. It was all for naught though. One night the remaining forces of the Dark Lord’s found the house that you were living in.”

“Your brother and you were taken away to safety by a family friend who was visiting, but your mother and father stayed behind to fight, because they didn’t know when to give up. I do believe that it was Augustus that had the pleasure of delivering the finishing curses to both of your parents. Not long after the news that Daniel and Alexis Pendragon had been killed got out, that Augustus and the rest of the supporters were caught.”

“They were thrown into Azkeban and that is where they still rot to this very day. I do believe that Augustus wishes to meet his niece and nephew but then again I may be mistaken for I have spent many years in this vile diary.” Riddle finishes the story. Hot tears are racing down my cheeks at the flippant recounting of my parent’s deaths.

“That’s not true. You’re wrong.” I tell him. Tom just smiles at me in a very creepy manner.

“I’m not saying that you’re going to believe me today, but just ask Professor Dumbledore if you get the chance to. I just believe that you deserve to know the whole story, the truth behind what really happened on that day that you became an orphan. I do understand what the pain is like with that.” Tom says softly. Suddenly the tight grip that Ginny had had on me loosens and, then is gone completely when she drops to the floor.

I spin around as fast as I can to see her. Her skin has gone a sickly pale color. I shake her by the shoulder to try and get her to wake. “Ginny! Ginny wake up!” I cry beginning to feel the panic start to seize me again.

“She can’t hear you. I wouldn’t bother tying.” Tom tells me coming around to our side and kneeling next to her. He places his hand by her. She’s weak but she isn’t dead yet. You both still have time.” He announces, and before I can understand what’s happening I’m bound at my hands and feet. A cloth is wrapped around my head at the mouth to stop me from speaking.

“I have enjoyed our time together Jamie, and I’m sure that you have more questions but you’ll have to wait for them. I’m expecting another guest to arrive, and I don’t want to have to repeat myself. If they don’t show then, I guess its all for naught.” Tom says and turns away to walk back into the shadows. The echo of the trickling water is now all that I have to keep me company, well that and the swallow breaths of Ginny Weasley.

My head throbs to remind me of the sorry state that I’m currently in. This was not how I expected to go about my day. Come on Harry! You and Ron should be getting here soon, I know you can do it, even if you don’t have Mione or me. I glance back down at Ginny and let a few tears fall. I hope that they’ll get here soon or there won’t be anything left of us to bring back, and I can’t do that to my brother. I can tell why this place is called the Chamber of Secrets now.


	16. The Heir of Slytherin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 16- The Heir of Slytherin

 

It seems like I’ve been here tied up for hours. I haven’t seen Riddle since his lovely little mind games that he decided to play with me since I first woke up. I’m worried about Ginny. She’s been getting paler and paler if that’s even possible since she first passed out. I’m worried about her. I need to find a way to free myself, and get her out of here.

Only problem is that I don’t have my wand. Riddle took it, and there’s nothing sharp around me in which to cut my bindings with. I can’t believe that this is the second time in two years that I’ve been tied up! I feel a wave of hopelessness wash over me, but I quickly shake it off.

I am a Pendragon for crying out loud, and if that’s not all I am a Gryffindor! I have faced spiders the size of small houses, and the actual reincarnation of Voldemort himself! I will not let some stupid stinking memory of a boy get the best of me! I start struggling against my bonds further looking around me for something that I can use to get myself loose. I can’t rely on Harry and Ron for everything. What kind of strong girl would that make me, a pretty bad one if you ask me.

No boy is going to tell me to just sit here and die, not if I can help it! There is a giant face on the back wall of the room. It is ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that falls almost to the bottom of the wizard’s sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stand on the smooth Chamber floor.

The lighting is a murky green color and the torches burn a pale green as well. A shiver rolls down my spine at the mood that the Chamber exudes. Suddenly there’s a rumble and I spin around too fast that my head spins. The circular doorway in front of me at the end of the long corridor slowly swings open. Oh Merlin help me, is he coming back? I don’t think that Riddle left that way though. My heart rate picks up swiftly and I curse myself for being so fearful. Oh screw it who am I kidding here, I may be brave but I’m still just a thirteen-year-old girl!

Before my freak out can happen all the way though out steps a small figure in a dusty black cloak with an unruly head of black hair. Harry! That has to be him; only he could have that many cowlicks on his head, and still look fairly decent! He slowly slinks into the room with his wand held aloft. Harry! Come on look here! How hard can it be to see your best friend tied up and your other friend’s sister passed out on the ground of a secret chamber?

Finally Harry’s gaze lands on the two of us, and I watch as his eyes widen in shock and horror. He’s broken out into a run before, I can admonish him to myself for not moving quick enough. “Jamie! Ginny! What happened are you okay?” Harry rushes out dropping to his knees in front of us, and working the gag off of my mouth.

“As okay as a person who’s been kidnapped can be I suppose. Ginny is knocked out though, I couldn’t get her to wake up, and then the git tied me up.” I explain, as Harry works the ropes off of me. As soon as I’m free to flex my limbs again I let out a sigh of relief even though there sharp tingling that comes along with regaining the feeling in them.

Harry wraps his arms around me in a quick hug after I’m standing again. “When we heard that two students had been taken into the chamber and that they were Ginny and you, I nearly had a heart attack!” Harry confesses to me. I give him a weak smile through the pain in my body and head.

“Where’s Ron? I thought that he’d be her because of his sister?” I ask Harry glancing behind him looking for my redheaded friend. Harry gives me a chagrined look.

“Well there might have been a cave in, and Ron is on the other side dealing with Lockhart.” Harry admits. I feel my eyes widen.

“You brought that git here?” I cry. Harry bites his lip and shrugs his shoulders.

“Tell you later now is not the time.” He says, and I reluctantly nod my head in agreement. Harry kneels down next to Ginny. “ “Ginny — don’t be dead — please don’t be dead —” He flings his wand aside, grabs Ginny’s shoulders, and turns her over. “Ginny, please wake up,” Harry mutters desperately, shaking her. Ginny’s head lolls hopelessly from side to side. I bite down on my lower lip in worry.

There’s something not right here. “She won’t wake,” says a soft voice. I jump and shiver at the voice of the boy that I never want to see again. Pain both physical and mental flashes through me at the memory of what had gone on here earlier.

“Tom — Tom Riddle?” Harry questions him. Riddle nods, not taking his eyes off Harry’s face. I feel myself start to shake at the sight of him. I’m not sure whether its from fear or the hatred that I’ve grown for him in these past few hours.

“What d’you mean, she won’t wake?” Harry says desperately. “She’s not — she’s not — ?”

“She’s still alive,” explains Riddle. “But only just.” I let out a breath of air that I hadn’t realized that I’d been holding.

“Are you a ghost?” Harry asks uncertainly.

“A memory,” says Riddle quietly. “Preserved in a diary for fifty years.”

“A rather evil memory at that.” I say quietly, but apparently not quietly enough for both boys turn their attention to me. “Don’t listen to him Harry he’s evil, he’s the one that took me down here, well maybe in the body of Ginny though, for one minute I’m talking to her, then the next I’m waking up with blinding pain in my head, that still hurts by the way.” I tell them.

Harry’s eyes widen at my statement and his gaze snaps to the wound on my forehead. Oh Harry now’s not the time to be worrying about me. “I think that it’s me that everyone should be paying attention to right now.” Riddle interrupts our moment. Harry and I both shoot our focus over to Riddle and I stumble a step back at the sight of Harry’s wand in his hand. In his pocket I can see the end of my wand sticking out as well.

“How did Ginny get like this?” Harry asks slowly fisting his hands into fists at his side.

“Well, that’s an interesting question,” says Riddle pleasantly. “And quite a long story. I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley’s like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger.”

“What are you talking about?” demands Harry. My heart sinks at the realization that comes over me.

“The diary.” I say hollowly.

“The diary,” confirms Riddle. “My diary. Little Ginny’s been writing in it for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes — how her brothers tease her, how she had to come to school with secondhand robes and books, how” — Riddle’s eyes glinted — “how she didn’t think famous, good, great Harry Potter would ever like her. . . .” I feel anger creep up in me. He is truly evil to manipulate the young girl’s feelings like that.

“Bastard.” I breathe out. Riddle flashes me a grin before he fixes his grin back on Harry. The way that he’s obsessed with him is making me nervous. It’s like Harry’s taken my place as the mouse to his cat.

“It’s very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven-year-old girl,” he goes on. “But I was patient. I wrote back. I was sympathetic, I was kind. Ginny simply loved me. No one’s ever understood me like you, Tom. . . . I’m so glad I’ve got this diary to confide in. . . . It’s like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket. . . .”

Riddle laughs, a high, cold laugh that doesn’t suit him. It makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. “If I say it myself, Harry, I’ve always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted. . . . I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul back into her . . .”

“What d’you mean?” says Harry, who looks very pale now. I feel myself start shaking of the realization of what had happened. It was all Ginny, all the time we were wondering who could have done such at thing as this and the entire time it was Ginny through the will of Tom Riddle.

“No…” I trail off.

“Oh yes Jamie. Haven’t you guessed yet, Harry Potter?” says Riddle softly. “Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. She set the serpent of Slytherin on four Mudbloods, and the Squib’s cat.”

“No,” Harry whispers in the same shock that I am in.

“Yes,” explains Riddle calmly. “Of course, she didn’t know what she was doing at first. It was very amusing. I wish you could have seen her new diary entries . . . far more interesting, they became. . . . Dear Tom,” he recites, watching Harry’s horrified face and ignoring me, “I think I’m losing my memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and I don’t know how they got there. Dear Tom, I can’t remember what I did on the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked and I’ve got paint all down my front. Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I’m pale and I’m not myself. I think he suspects me. . . . There was another attack today and I don’t know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I think I’m going mad. . . . I think I’m the one attacking everyone, Tom!”

I clench my jaw in anger thinking of all the terrible things that he had made my friend and defenseless little girl do. He was a true monster as there ever were. “It took a very long time for stupid little Ginny to stop trusting her diary,” says Riddle. “But she finally became suspicious and tried to dispose of it. And that’s where you came in, Harry. You found it, and I couldn’t have been more delighted. Of all the people who could have picked it up, it was you, the very person I was most anxious to meet. . . .”

“Why would you want to meet Harry?” I ask my voice shaking in outrage and fear not certain which emotion is the stronger.

“Well, you see, Ginny told me all about Harry,” explains Riddle. “Your whole fascinating history.” His eyes rove over the lightning scar on Harry’s forehead, and their expression grows hungrier. “I knew I must find out more about you, talk to you, meet you if I could. So I decided to show you my famous capture of that great oaf, Hagrid, to gain your trust —”

“Hagrid’s my friend,” says Harry, his voice now shaking. “And you framed him, didn’t you? I thought you made a mistake, but —”

“He did it on purpose Harry.” I tell him, gripping my friend’s hand tightly in mine. I don’t think that I’m going to be able to stand hearing this much longer. It all feels s wrong, and like we’re back in the Forbidden forest trapped in the spider’s web right where it wants us, only this time Tom Riddle is the spider.

“It was my word against Hagrid’s, Harry. Well, you can imagine how it looked to old Armando Dippet. On the one hand, Tom Riddle, poor but brilliant, parentless but so brave, school prefect, model student . . . on the other hand, big, blundering Hagrid, in trouble every other week, trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed, sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest to wrestle trolls . . . but I admit, even I was surprised how well the plan worked. I thought someone must realize that Hagrid couldn’t possibly be the Heir of Slytherin. It had taken me five whole years to find out everything I could about the Chamber of Secrets and discover the secret entrance . . . as though Hagrid had the brains, or the power!”

“Only the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, seemed to think Hagrid was innocent. He persuaded Dippet to keep Hagrid and train him as gamekeeper. Yes, I think Dumbledore might have guessed. . . . Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did. . . .”

“I bet Dumbledore saw right through you,” snarls Harry, his teeth gritted. I nod my head in agreement with Harry. Dumbledore would stand by Hagrid, that’s why Hagrid is so protective of Dumbledore all the time it makes sense.

“Well, he certainly kept an annoyingly close watch on me after Hagrid was expelled,” says Riddle carelessly. “I knew it wouldn’t be safe to open the Chamber again while I was still at school. But I wasn’t going to waste those long years I’d spent searching for it. I decided to leave behind a diary, preserving my sixteen-year-old self in its pages, so that one day, with luck, I would be able to lead another in my footsteps, and finish Salazar Slytherin’s noble work.” I think that I’m going to be sick. Who would do such a terrible thing like that?

“Well, you haven’t finished it,” says Harry triumphantly. “No one’s died this time, not even the cat. In a few hours the Mandrake Draught will be ready and everyone who was Petrified will be all right again —”

“Haven’t I already told you,” seethes Riddle quietly, “that killing Mudbloods doesn’t matter to me anymore? For many months now, my new target has been — you.” My blood runs cold at the explanation. Harry, he only wants Harry this sounds so familiar.

“Imagine how angry I was when the next time my diary was opened, it was Ginny who was writing to me, not you. She saw you with the diary, you see, and panicked. What if you found out how to work it, and I repeated all her secrets to you? What if, even worse, I told you who’d been strangling roosters? So the foolish little brat waited until your dormitory was deserted and stole it back. But I knew what I must do. It was clear to me that you were on the trail of Slytherin’s heir. From everything Ginny had told me about you, I knew you would go to any lengths to solve the mystery — particularly if one of your best friends was attacked. And Ginny had told me the whole school was buzzing because you could speak Parseltongue. . . .”

“So I made Ginny write her own farewell on the wall and was going to bring her down to the chamber, but it was all thrown off, when sweet caring Jamie Pendragon here ran after the stupid girl. But, that was okay for I was meaning to find a way to talk with one of the Pendragons. It’s just such good luck that you Harry and Jamie are such good friends. So I had Ginny knock Jamie out and change the message to include Jamie.”

“We had so much fun waiting for Harry to arrive didn’t we Jamie? I’m sure that you’re really enjoying boasting the family name now aren’t you?” Riddle snarls at me.

“Shut up! You’re a liar! None of what you told me was true!” I shout refusing to believe that what he told me was true. That would mean that everyone close to me have had to be lying to me for years.

“Why would I do that Jamie? I have nothing to gain by telling you lies? I’ve already gotten everything that I wanted now.” He says. Riddle turns his attention back to Harry who squeezes my hand tighter, at this rate I’m not sure if it’s for my comfort or for his.

“I have so many questions to ask you Harry Potter.” Riddle says.

“Like what?” Harry spits, his open hand still clenched in a fist.

“Well,” says Riddle, smiling pleasantly, “how is it that you — a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent — managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?”

There is an odd red gleam in his hungry eyes now. Oh no… it can’t be, not again.

“Why do you care how I escaped?” asks Harry slowly. “Voldemort was after your time. . . .” Oh Merlin please let this not be so!

“Harry…” I whisper trailing off as my voice dies of fright.

“Voldemort,” says Riddle softly, “is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter. . . .” He pulls Harry’s wand from his pocket and begins to trace it through the air, writing three shimmering words:

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name rearranged themselves:

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

“You see?” he whispers. “It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends only, of course. You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father’s name forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother’s side? I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch? No, Harry — I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!”

I’m shaking by now. I’m not quite sure how Harry is still holding his ground so well. I know that he’s only a teenage boy and a memory but he’s killing my friend right now, and we’re defenseless against him. This is truly a nightmare. Voldemort was already so evil at such a young age.

“You’re not,” Harry says, his quiet voice full of hatred.

“Not what?” snaps Riddle.

“Not the greatest sorcerer in the world,” snaps Harry, breathing fast. “Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn’t dare try and take over at Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw through you when you were at school and he still frightens you now, wherever you’re hiding these days —”

The smile has gone from Riddle’s face, to be replaced by a very ugly look. “Dumbledore’s been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!” he hisses.

“He’s not as gone as you might think!” Harry retorts. I steel myself and nod along with Harry.

Riddle opens his mouth, but freezes. Music is coming from somewhere. Riddle whirls around to stare down the empty Chamber. The music is growing louder. It is eerie, spine-tingling, unearthly; it lifts the hair on my scalp and makes my heart feel as though it is swelling to twice its normal size. Then, as the music reaches such a pitch that I feel it vibrating inside my own ribs, flames erupt at the top of the nearest pillar.

Harry and I stumble back in shock. A crimson bird the size of a swan has appeared, piping its weird music to the vaulted ceiling. It has a glittering golden tail as long as a peacock’s and gleaming golden talons, which are gripping a ragged bundle.

A second later, the bird is flying straight at Harry. It drops the ragged thing it was carrying at his feet, then lands heavily on my shoulder. As it folds its great wings, Harry and I look up and see it’s long, sharp golden beak and a beady black eye.

The bird stops singing. It sits still and warm next to my cheek, gazing steadily at Riddle. I drift a hand up and stroke the majestic bird’s chest. I can feel a soft rumble against my finger. I’m simply amazed that the bird trusts me like this.

“That’s a phoenix. . . .” says Riddle, staring shrewdly back at it.

“Fawkes?” Harry breathes, and I feel the bird’s golden claws squeeze my shoulder gently.

“I assume so.” I reply.

“And that — ” says Riddle, now eyeing the ragged thing that Fawkes has dropped, “that’s the old school Sorting Hat —” So it is. Patched, frayed, and dirty, the hat lay motionless at Harry’s feet.

Riddle begins to laugh again. He laughs so hard that the dark Chamber rings with it, as though ten Riddles are laughing at once —

“This is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old hat! Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now?” I grit my teeth at the boy. He’s really starting to get on my nerves. No one treats my friends like that!

“To business, Harry,” says Riddle, still smiling broadly. “Twice — in your past, in my future — we have met. And twice I failed to kill you. How did you survive? Tell me everything. The longer you talk,” he adds softly, “the longer you stay alive.”

I shift my feet nervously at that statement. I hope that Harry has an idea on how to get us out of here. If only there were some way to get our wands back from Riddle, then we could grab Ginny and run. Maybe we can use Fawkes as a distraction.

“No one knows why you lost your powers when you attacked me,” says Harry abruptly. “I don’t know myself. But I know why you couldn’t kill me. Because my mother died to save me. My common Muggle-born mother,” he adds, shaking with suppressed rage. “She stopped you killing me. And I’ve seen the real you, I saw you last year. You’re a wreck. You’re barely alive. That’s where all your power got you. You’re in hiding. You’re ugly, you’re foul —”

Harry as much as I love your self righteous speech, its not best to anger the powerful super crazy evil wizard who has all the power at the moment! Riddle’s face contorts. Then he forces it into an awful smile.

“So. Your mother died to save you. Yes, that’s a powerful counter-charm. I can see now . . . there is nothing special about you, after all. I wondered, you see. Because there are strange likenesses between us, Harry Potter. Even you must have noticed. Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin himself. We even look something alike. . . . But after all, it was merely a lucky chance that saved you from me. That’s all I wanted to know.”

Harry is nothing like that boy over there, Harry is kind and noble, he would never kill someone just because of the contents of their blood! “Now, Harry, I’m going to teach you a little lesson. Let’s match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against famous Harry Potter, and the best weapons Dumbledore can give him. . . .”

Uh oh. This can’t be good. Riddle begins walking away to the statue of the man at the back of the room. “Jamie listen to me, we figured out what the monster is or rather Hermione did.” Harry tells me.

My eyes widen in shock. “What how…” I’m cut off by Harry though.

“Now’s not the time. The monster is a Basilisk! A giant serpent that has poisonous fangs, and if you look into its eyes it will blind you!” Harry tells me. A shiver of fear rolls down my spine.

“Well how the bloody hell are we going to be able to kill it?” I demand. Harry grips my shoulder hard.

“Jamie you need to take Ginny and hide. You’re injured let me deal with the snake.” Harry tells me looking me in the eyes. I narrow my eyes at my best friend angrily.

“I told you last year Potter, I’m not letting you do this alone, so you better believe it when I tell you that we’re doing this together!” I hiss right back at him, poking him in the chest. Harry grins at me faintly, but it dies when we hear a grating hiss coming from Riddle. Harry must know what he’s saying but I can’t hear anything but hissing coming from him.

Slytherin’s gigantic stone face is moving. Horrorstruck, I see his mouth opening, wider and wider, to make a huge black hole. And something is stirring inside the statue’s mouth. Something is slithering up from its depths. Oh this is so going to give me nightmares if I manage to live through this.

“Jamie eyes closed.” Harry hisses at me, and I snap my eyes shut gripping Harry’s hand tighter, and wincing when I feel Fawkes’ claws dig into my shoulder harder. Oh please don’t leave us now!

Something huge hits the stone floor of the Chamber. Harry and I feel it shudder — we know what was happening, I can sense it, can almost see the giant serpent uncoiling itself from Slytherin’s mouth. I try to hold back the small whine that I want to let loose. I can hear more hisses noises, and suddenly I’m being lurched to a run by Harry. So blindly I run behind him, not daring to let go of his hand.

I can only imagine what would happen to me now if I let go. I seriously don’t want to be snake food. I would rather be food for pretty much any other creature out there in existence! Suddenly I’m hit with something heavy, and Harry and I are thrown into the wall. With a groan I collapse onto the ground.

Between my head injury and the new pain in my ribs I can’t help but open my eyes despite Harry’s warnings. The enormous serpent, bright, poisonous green, thick as an oak trunk, has raised itself high in the air and its great blunt head is weaving drunkenly between the pillars. As Harry and I tremble, ready to close our eyes if it turned, we see what has distracted the snake.

Fawkes is soaring around its head, and the basilisk is snapping furiously at him with fangs long and thin as sabers —

Fawkes dives. His long golden beak sinks out of sight and a sudden shower of dark blood spatters the floor. The snake’s tail thrashes, narrowly missing Harry and me, and before we can shut our eyes, it turns — I look straight into its face and see that its eyes, both its great, bulbous yellow eyes, have been punctured by the phoenix; blood is streaming to the floor, and the snake is spitting in agony. Oh thank you Fawkes, the snake is blind!

“NO!” We hear Riddle screaming. “LEAVE THE BIRD! LEAVE THE BIRD! THEY ARE BEHIND YOU! YOU CAN STILL SMELL THEM! KILL THEM!”

The blinded serpent sways, confused, still deadly. Fawkes is circling its head, piping his eerie song, jabbing here and there at its scaly nose as the blood pours from its ruined eyes. I glance over at Riddle quickly to find that he is enraptured by what is going on here. There’s a chance that I could get my wand from him.

Something very hard and heavy thudded onto the top of Harry’s head, almost knocking him out. Harry grabs the top of the hat to pull it off and feels something long and hard beneath it.

A gleaming silver sword has appeared inside the hat, its handle glittering with rubies the size of eggs.

“Harry I’m going after Riddle, you distract the snake. I’ll get my wand and help you finish him off.” I tell him chancing a glance at my best friend. Harry nods at me quickly and starts running back down the passage while I dart into the shadows behind a pillar.

“KILL THEM! LEAVE THE BIRD! THEY ARE BEHIND YOU! SNIFF — SMELL THEM!” Riddle shouts. The basilisk abandons its hunt of the phoenix and starts slithering its way after my best friend. I silently and slowly creep my way back towards Riddle. He’s still set on watching Harry and the giant serpent.

I manage to get all the way to Riddle when I hear a scream of agony. Harry is driven to the ground, one arm inside the Basilisk’s mouth driving the sword up and through its head and one of the long rapier fangs of the snake is embedded in his arms.

I stifle the scream of horror that wants to break free. No Harry! This isn’t how it was supposed to end! The giant basilisk collapses to the ground dead at last and Harry slowly, sluggishly pries the fang from his arm. Fawkes lands down next to Harry, and I can hear him softly talking to the phoenix.

“Fawkes,” says Harry thickly. “You were fantastic, Fawkes. . . .” I follow behind Riddle as he makes his way closer to Harry. There’s no way that I’m letting him harm my friend further.

“You’re dead, Harry Potter,” says Riddle from above him. “Dead. Even Dumbledore’s bird knows it. Do you see what he’s doing, Potter? He’s crying.”

Harry blinks. Thick, pearly tears were trickling down the glossy feathers. A smile begins to grow on my face. Phoenix tears heal all wounds! I know that I’ve read that before!

“I’m going to sit here and watch you die, Harry Potter. Take your time. I’m in no hurry.” Riddle tells him. I on the other hand am done with listening to this prat, so with what strength I have left, I tackle Riddle down to the ground. “What?” Riddle cries falling to the ground with a heavy thud. I wrestle with him for the wand in his possession.

When that proves to be too hard, I rear back with my left arm, and slug him hard in the eye. Riddle howls in pain and starts flailing further. Boy does that hurt! I don’t let up on him though. “That’s for hurting my friend! And that’s for petrifying Hermione! And this is for talking bad about my family!” I yell as each blow lands. Finally I manage to grasp my wand, before Riddle throws me off of him.

I land on the cold stone floor with an oomph. Riddle stands above me with Harry’s wand pointed at my chest. There’s blood leaking down his face from the gashes that I gave him and the right side of his face is starting to purple. “Well I guess that I can start by ending you first Jamie Pendragon, that will make Potter’s death all the worse to bear.” Riddle spits.

Before he can cast the curse to end my life though there is a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Harry has stabbed Riddle’s diary through with the basilisk fang. Ink spurts out of the diary in torrents, streaming over Harry’s hands, flooding the floor. Riddle is writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing and then —

He is gone. Harry’s wand falls to the floor with a clatter and there is silence. Oh my god… is it really over? Silence is abound except for the steady drip drip of ink still oozing from the diary. The basilisk venom has burned a sizzling hole right through it. Harry slowly picks himself up on unsteady feet to come over to me.

“Jamie… are you okay?” Harry asks me worriedly in a shaky voice. I struggle to my feet as well, and stare at the spot where Riddle had once stood only moments before.

“Yeah Harry I’m fine, I’m bruised but I’ll live what about you? Are you okay, did Fawkes heal you?” I ask him grabbed my best friend by his arm. Harry grins at me softly. We’re both wet and covered in dirt, but that doesn’t matter to the two of us. We’re still alive and breathing and in the end that is all the matters.

“I’m fine Jamie, Fawkes is a miracle worker though, I’m more worried about you.” Harry says looking at my still slightly bleeding head wound, and my bruised and swelling knuckles. “Remind me not to piss you off ever again, that’s one mean right hook that you have there.” Harry tells me laughing. I grin back at my best friend and pull him into a hug.

“Thank you for coming after us Harry.” I tell him softly. I feel like I have to cry but there are no tears left in which to shed. That’s when I pull back abruptly. “Ginny!” I cry letting go of Harry and dashing back over to where the small redheaded girl lies on the floor of the chamber.

Ginny is sitting up by the time that we make it over to her. Her bemused eyes travel from the huge form of the dead basilisk, over Harry, in his blood-soaked robes, and me all battered, then to the diary in Harry’s hand hand. She draws a great, shuddering gasp and tears begin to pour down her face.

“Jamie — oh, Harry — I tried to tell you at b-breakfast, but I c-couldn’t say it in front of Percy — it was me, Harry — but I — I s-swear I d-didn’t mean to — R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over — and — how did you kill that — that thing? W-where’s Riddle? The last thing I r-remember is him coming out of the diary —”

“It’s all right,” says Harry, holding up the diary, and showing Ginny the fang hole, “Riddle’s finished. Look! Him and the basilisk. C’mon, Ginny, let’s get out of here —”

“Yeah everything will be just alright, I mean come on we just survived a basilisk attack and all of the petrified students will soon wake up. Plus we lived to tell the tale, that’s an adventure well done if you ask me.” I tell her attempting to calm the girl down.

“I’m going to be expelled!” Ginny weeps as Harry helps her awkwardly to her feet. “I’ve looked forward to coming to Hogwarts ever since B-Bill came and n-now I’ll have to leave and — w-what’ll Mum and Dad say?”

Fawkes is waiting for us, hovering in the Chamber entrance. Harry urges Ginny forward; we step over the motionless coils of the dead basilisk, through the echoing gloom, and back into the tunnel. I the stone doors close behind us with a soft hiss. Well thankfully I’ll never have to go back in there ever again.

After a few minutes’ progress up the dark tunnel, a distant sound of slowly shifting rock reaches my ears.

“Ron!” Harry yells, speeding up. “Ginny’s okay! So is Jamie! I’ve got them!” We heard Ron give a strangled cheer, and we turned the next bend to see his eager face staring through the sizable gap he has managed to make in the rockfall. I have never been so excited to see his face again.

“Ginny!” Ron thrusts an arm through the gap in the rock to pull her through first. “You’re alive! I don’t believe it! What happened? How — what — where did that bird come from?” They’re reunion is sweet, and it makes a pang of sadness go through me thinking of my own brother. Oh how I wish he was here now so I could hug him, and tell him how happy that I am to be able to see him again.

Fawkes has swooped through the gap after Ginny. Harry and I climb through as well, and as soon as Ron releases Ginny he pulls me into a hug as well. “I’m glad to see you in one piece Jamie, its just not the same without you.” He tells me seriously. I smile at my friend, and slap him on the shoulder lightly.

“You boys wouldn’t know what to do without me and Hermione.” I tell them. Harry and Ron chuckle at that shaking their heads. Ginny is still crying but she’s smiling slightly as well.

“How come you’ve got a sword?” says Ron, gaping at the glittering weapon in Harry’s hand.

“I’ll explain when we get out of here,” Harry tells him gesturing to Ginny who has started crying harder again. My heart goes out to the girl. To have Riddle take you over when you’re only eleven must me horrible.

“But —”

“Later,” Harry says shortly. I don’t think it is a good idea to tell Ron yet who’d been opening the Chamber, not in front of Ginny, anyway. “Where’s Lockhart?”

“Back there,” says Ron, still looking puzzled but jerking his head up the tunnel toward the pipe. “He’s in a bad way. Come and see.”

“I still don’t understand why you brought the buffoon with you.” I grumble. On the way there Harry and Ron explain to me that Lockhart was tasked to retrieve Ginny and me, but they had caught him trying to run away, and brought him here by wand point.

Led by Fawkes, whose wide scarlet wings emitted a soft golden glow in the darkness, we walk all the way back to the mouth of the pipe. Gilderoy Lockhart is sitting there, humming placidly to himself. Oh Merlin.

“His memory’s gone,” explains Ron. “The Memory Charm backfired. Hit him instead of us. Hasn’t got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are. I told him to come and wait here. He’s a danger to himself.” Lockhart peers good-naturedly up at them all.

“Hello,” he says. “Odd sort of place, this, isn’t it? Do you live here?” I couldn’t contain the burst of laughter that came over me. Oh this is just too sweet. Only seeing Lockhart like this could make me this happy at the moment!

“Oh Merlin this is the best ‘congratulation you didn’t die’ gift ever!” I howl tears of mirth streaming down my face.

“No,” says Ron, raising his eyebrows at Harry, in response to Lockhart’s question. Harry bends down and looked up the long, dark pipe.

“Have you thought how we’re going to get back up this?” he says to Ron.

Ron shakes his head, but Fawkes the phoenix has swooped past Harry and is now fluttering in front of him, his beady eyes bright in the dark. He is waving his long golden tail feathers. Harry looks uncertainly at him.

“He looks like he wants you to grab hold . . .” comments Ron, looking perplexed. “But you’re much too heavy for a bird to pull up there —”

“Fawkes,” I say, “isn’t an ordinary bird.”

Harry turns quickly to the others. “We’ve got to hold on to each other. Ginny, grab Ron’s hand. Jamie you take mine then Ron’s other. Professor Lockhart —

“He means you,” says Ron sharply to Lockhart.

“You hold Ginny’s other hand —” Harry finishes. Once we’re all situated Harry grabs onto Fawkes’ tail feathers.

An extraordinary lightness seems to spread through my whole body and the next second, in a rush of wings, we are flying upward through the pipe. I can hear Lockhart dangling below me, saying, “Amazing! Amazing! This is just like magic!”  The chill air is whipping through my hair, and before I stopped enjoying the ride, it is over — all five of us are hitting the wet floor of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, and as Lockhart straightens his hat, the sink that hid the pipe is sliding back into place.

That was so much fun I almost want to do that again, but on second thought I never want to see the inside of the Chamber of Secrets ever again. Myrtle goggles at us.

“You’re alive,” she says blankly to Harry, but not before casting me a brief thankful look.

“There’s no need to sound so disappointed,” Harry replies grimly, wiping flecks of blood and slime off his glasses.

“Oh, well . . . I’d just been thinking . . . if you had died, you’d have been welcome to share my toilet,” says Myrtle, blushing silver. Oh my god Moaning Myrtle has a crush on my best friend. I don’t know whether to laugh or be sickened!

“Urgh!” says Ron as we leave the bathroom for the dark, deserted corridor outside. “Harry! I think Myrtle’s grown fond of you! You’ve got competition, Ginny!”

But tears are still flooding silently down Ginny’s face. I take her hand and squeeze it gently, offering a silent reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

“Where now?” asks Ron, with an anxious look at Ginny. Harry points out the way. My injuries are beginning to flare up again in protest of all the activity that I’ve been doing.

Fawkes is leading the way, glowing gold along the corridor. We stride after him, and moments later, found ourselves outside Professor McGonagall’s office. Harry knocks and pushes the door open. I gulp swallowing down the nerves that I feel. I don’t know why for I’ve just survived a Basilisk attack, and punched the young Dark Lord a few times, but there’s something about Professor McGonagall that just makes me shiver.


	17. Dobby's Reward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 17- Dobby’s Reward

 

For a moment there is silence as Harry, Ron, Ginny, Lockhart, and I stand in the doorway, covered in muck and slime and (in Harry’s case) blood. Then there is a scream.

“Ginny!” It is Mrs. Weasley, who had been sitting crying in front of the fire. She leaps to her feet, closely followed by Mr. Weasley, and both of them fling themselves on their daughter. Ron quickly gets scooped up in their group hug as well, but my gaze is diverted past them to the man standing tall in front of Professor McGonagall’s desk with McGonagall next to him. Dumbledore is standing there smiling at us from the fireplace.

“Jamie!” Kingsley cries. I snap out of my funk and push my injured body the last few steps until I’m scooped up safe in my guardian’s arms. I can’t help the choked sob that breaks though not only for the facts that I was kidnapped and that I missed him, but for the possibility that he’s lied to me for my whole life.

I clutch onto his robes tightly and inhale the strong scent of spices that I always get when I’m close to him. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him. I only wish that it were under better circumstances. “Oh thank Merlin! Jamie are you all right?” Kingsley demands holding me out at arm’s length and looking over the multitude of cuts and bruises that I’ve amounted over the course of the last few hours.

“I’ll live. A giant paralyzing serpent, and a musty old book can’t kill me off that easily.” I reply shakily fighting back the voices in my head that are screaming for me to yell, cry, and basically demand answers right here on the spot. Kingsley lets out a relieved sigh and pulls me close to him. I glance over at Harry and see him fighting the dazed look on his face. A pang of sorrow shoots through me since Harry doesn’t have anyone here to hug and hold him close.

I didn’t have to worry for long though since Mrs. Weasley reached an arm out and swept Harry into a crushing hug along with her children. “You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?” Mrs. Weasley cries.

“I think we’d all like to know that,” says Professor McGonagall weakly. Mrs. Weasley lets go of Harry, who hesitates for a moment, then walks over to the desk and lays upon it the Sorting Hat, the ruby-encrusted sword, and what remains of Riddle’s diary.

I feel a shudder roll through my body on seeing the cursed diary. I step away from Kingsley needing the space to sort out all the facts in my mind. I go over to Harry and grip his hand tightly in order to give him the support that I’m sure that we both need by now. All the attention in the room is on the three of us now, since Ron decided to join us in solidarity.

Then Harry starts telling them everything. For nearly a quarter of an hour he speaks into the rapt silence: He tells them about hearing the disembodied voice, how Hermione had finally realized that he was hearing a basilisk in the pipes; how we had followed the spiders into the forest, that Aragog had told us where the last victim of the basilisk had died; how we had guessed that Moaning Myrtle had been the victim, and that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets might be in her bathroom. . . .

Harry even talked about how as soon as they realized that both Ginny and I had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets that they knew that they had to do something to get us out of there. “Very well,” Professor McGonagall prompts him as he pauses, “so you found out where the entrance was — breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add — but how on earth did you all get out of there alive, Potter?”

Harry glances over at me his eyes pleading with me to help him out on this one. I nod my head slightly and now I take my turn in describing the events that had actually gone on in the Chamber of Secrets. I mentioned about how I woke up in the Chamber and was alone with Ginny and Riddle until Harry came into the Chamber. I tell them about Fawkes delivering the Sorting Hat and the fight with the Basilisk. I don’t mention the part about Riddle controlling Ginny because I don’t want anything bad to happen to her. It wasn’t her fault.

Harry and I look at Dumbledore cautiously. He always seems to know everything that’s gone on before we even do and I catch the faint smile on his face. “What interests me most,” says Dumbledore gently, “is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania.”

Harry and I both release the collective breaths that we had been holding. I notice how Kingsley tenses up at the mention of Voldemort. “W-what’s that?” sputters Mr. Weasley in a stunned voice. “You-Know-Who? En-enchant Ginny? But Ginny’s not . . . Ginny hasn’t been . . . has she?”

“It was this diary,” I say quickly, picking it up and showing it to Dumbledore. “Riddle wrote it when he was sixteen. . . .” Dumbledore takes the diary from me and peers keenly down his long, crooked nose at its burnt and soggy pages.

“Brilliant,” he says softly. “Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen.” He turns around to the Weasleys, who are looking utterly bewildered.

“Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school . . . traveled far and wide . . . sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here.”

I shudder thinking of the memory of the boy. He thought that he had it all planned out. He even had a story to tell. “But, Ginny,” says Mrs. Weasley. “What’s our Ginny got to do with — with — him?”

“His d-diary!” Ginny sobs. “I’ve b-been writing in it, and he’s been w-writing back all year —”

“Ginny!” says Mr. Weasley, flabbergasted. “Haven’t I taught you anything? What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain. Why didn’t you show the diary to me, or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic —”

“I d-didn’t know,” sobs Ginny. “I found it inside one of the books Mum got me. I th-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it —”

“Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away,” Dumbledore interrupts in a firm voice. “This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort.” He strides over to the door and opens it. “Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up,” he adds, twinkling kindly down at her. “You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She’s just giving out Mandrake juice — I daresay the basilisk’s victims will be waking up any moment.”

“So Hermione’s okay!” Ron cries.

“Thank goodness!” I breathe out relieved. Harry just grins madly at the two of us. Even though we get along swimmingly just the three of us, it isn’t the same without our fourth.

“I will have to take my leave as well. I only got pulled off of my mission by emergency.” Kingsley says sadly, as he comes over to me again and pulls me into for another hug. “I’m so glad that you’re okay Jamie. I’m sorry that I can’t stay longer. I’ll be there to pick you up from King’s Cross. Love you.” Kingsley tells me kissing me on the top of the head.

“Bye Kingsley.” I reply with a wave of my hand watching as my guardian disappears out of the room after a meaningful glance at Professor Dumbledore. All that’s left in the room now are the three of us, Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore.

“You know, Minerva,” Professor Dumbledore says thoughtfully to Professor McGonagall, “I think all this merits a good feast. Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?”

“Right,” says Professor McGonagall crisply, also moving to the door. “I’ll leave you to deal with Potter, Pendragon, and Weasley, shall I?”

“Certainly,” says Dumbledore. Harry, Ron, and I glance at each other uncertainly. We weren’t going to get punished were we? I was kidnapped for crying out loud, there was nothing that I could do about that! I feel my hands begin to shake again after all that’s happened in the day catches up with me.

“I seem to remember telling you three that I would have to expel you if you broke any more school rules,” says Dumbledore. Ron opens his mouth in horror.

“Which goes to show that the best of us must sometimes eat our words,” Dumbledore goes on, smiling. “You will both receive Special Awards for Services to the School and — let me see — yes, I think two hundred points apiece for Gryffindor.” The three of us stand there dumbstruck. Ron goes as brightly pink as Lockhart’s valentine flowers and closes his mouth again.

“But sir— I didn’t do anything to help. I was kidnapped and taken down into the tunnel. Harry and Ron did most of the work.” I say feeling uncomfortable about being rewarded for work that I didn’t do.

“Ms. Pendragon did you not help solve the mystery, and help defeat a giant serpent?” Dumbledore asks. I nod my head slowly.

“Then you most certainly do deserve the points and credit Ms. Pendragon.” He finishes with a slight twinkle in his eye, and I smile softly at him in return. “But one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his part in this dangerous adventure,” Dumbledore adds. “Why so modest, Gilderoy?”

I startle whirling around to see Lockhart. I had totally forgotten that he was even in the room with us at the time. “Professor Dumbledore,” Ron says quickly, “there was an accident down in the Chamber of Secrets. Professor Lockhart —”

“Am I a professor?” says Lockhart in mild surprise. “Goodness. I expect I was hopeless, was I?” I can’t help but snicker at that admission. Too bad no one recorded that.

“He tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand backfired,” Ron explains quietly to Dumbledore.

“Dear me,” says Dumbledore, shaking his head, his long silver mustache quivering. “Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy!” It makes sense that Lockhart would steal from better witches and wizards and claim their accomplishments as his. I’m just surprised that he could master the memory charm in the first place.

“Sword?” says Lockhart dimly. “Haven’t got a sword. That boy has, though.” He points at Harry. “He’ll lend you one.”

“Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart up to the infirmary, too?” Dumbledore says to Ron. “I’d like a few more words with Harry. . . .”

Lockhart ambles out. Ron casts a curious look back at Dumbledore and Harry as he and I close the door. “Wonder what that’s all about?” Ron asks me softly while eyeballing Lockhart in front of us.

“If we need to know Harry will tell us.” I say softly in return.

* * *

 

I really hadn’t wanted to go to the hospital wing so I just settled for sitting along the corridor by the entrance to Dumbledore’s office. That allowed me some time alone to play with my thoughts. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with all the new information that I had on my family. It wasn’t like I was going to be able to go to Azkeban and demand answers out of the long lost evil uncle that I never knew that I had.

I also had the betrayal of Kingsley to think about. Why would he do this to me? Doesn’t he know that keeping secrets in our world never turns out to be a good thing? It hurts to think that every adult out there in the wizarding world knew about my family but I didn’t. To have your own brother betray you must have been heartbreaking to my dad.

I couldn’t imagine Luka doing so to me, even though we fight a lot of the time. He would never turn on me like that. I’m wrenched out of my musings though when I hear the stone staircase moving so that someone can come out of Professor Dumbledore’s office.

I expect to see Harry coming down the stairs but I’m shocked when I see Dobby flying down the staircase and landing with a thud in the corridor. I hurry over to the little house elf and pull him back up to his feet. “Dobby are you okay?” I ask him worriedly. Before he can respond a cold sneering voice answers.

“I should have known that a Pendragon would be associating with something as common as a house elf.” I spin around to see Lucius Malfoy standing there. I tighten my hand into a fist and glare at the man that I unfortunately know.

“I should have know that the man who treats his house elf so badly would be you Mr. Malfoy.” I growl right back at him.

“I don’t have time for petty game today Pendragon. Come Dobby!” He snaps and reluctantly Dobby follows him. I have to stop myself from doing something rash when he kicks Dobby again and the elf goes flying with a squeal of pain.

That elf may have caused my arm to get broken with the disaster of the flying car but no one deserves to be treated that way. I guess that Harry feels the same way since suddenly he’s by my side slightly out of breath. “Mr. Malfoy,” he gasps, skidding to a halt, “I’ve got something for you —”

I look at Harry oddly and Lucius Malfoy comes back over to the pair of us. Harry forced the smelly sock into Lucius Malfoy’s hand.

“What the — ?” Mr. Malfoy rips the sock off the diary, throws it aside, then looks furiously from the ruined book to Harry and even to me. “You’ll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Harry Potter,” he says softly. “They were meddlesome fools, too.” He turns to go.

“Come, Dobby. I said, come.” But Dobby doesn’t move. He is holding up Harry’s disgusting, slimy sock, and looking at it as though it is a priceless treasure. I big smile breaks out across my face. Harry is a genius!

“Master has given a sock,” says the elf in wonderment. “Master gave it to Dobby.”

“What’s that?” spits Mr. Malfoy. “What did you say?”

“Got a sock,” says Dobby in disbelief. “Master threw it, and Dobby caught it, and Dobby — Dobby is free.” Lucius Malfoy stands frozen, staring at the elf. Then he lunges at Harry.

“You’ve lost me my servant, boy!” I try to step in front of Harry quickly. But Dobby shouts, “You shall not harm Harry Potter!”

There is a loud bang, and Mr. Malfoy is thrown backward. He crashes down the stairs, three at a time, landing in a crumpled heap on the landing below. He gets up, his face livid, and pulls out his wand, but Dobby raises a long, threatening finger.

“You shall go now,” he says fiercely, pointing down at Mr. Malfoy. “You shall not touch Harry Potter. You shall go now.”

Lucius Malfoy had no choice. With a last, incensed stare at the three of us, he swings his cloak around him and hurries out of sight. “Harry Potter freed Dobby!” says the elf shrilly, gazing up at Harry, moonlight from the nearest window reflected in his orb-like eyes. “Harry Potter set Dobby free!” I smile at the pure joy that is coming from the small elf. I beam at Harry.

“Least I could do, Dobby,” says Harry, grinning. “Just promise never to try and save my life again.” The elf’s ugly brown face splits suddenly into a wide, toothy smile.

“Right,” says Harry weakly. “Well, I’d better go. There’s a feast, and my friend Hermione should be awake by now. . . .” Dobby throws his arms around Harry’s middle and hugs him.

“Harry Potter is greater by far than Dobby knew!” he sobs. “Farewell, Harry Potter!” And with a final loud crack, Dobby disappears. I grin at Harry and put my arms around him in a hug.

“You know Dobby was right.” I say nodding my head.

“About what? Almost getting us killed?” Harry questions returning my hug.

“That you’re pretty great.” I reply squeezing him one last time then spinning around to start running.

“Race you to the Great Hall!” I cry. Harry sputters and gives chase.

“That’s not fair Pendragon!” He hollers after me.

Our laughter echoes down the corridor. 

* * *

 

We have been to several Hogwarts feasts, but never one quite like this. Everybody was in their pajamas, and the celebration lasted all night. I can’t quite remember which was my favorite part of the night, it could have been when I saw Hermione running down the aisle towards us calling, “You solved it! You solved it!” then hugging us fiercely. I’m not ashamed to say that I cried and kept a firm grip on my friend most of the night.

It could have been the Hagrid returning from Azkeban at quarter past three in the morning coming up to Harry, Ron, and I and cuffing us on the back. (I almost went face first into my pudding.) Or it could have been Harry, Ron’s, and my 600 points that secured the House Cup for Gryffindor for the second year running.

Why it could even had been that Professor McGonagall had stood up and announced that there would be no exams for they had been cancelled as a school treat (“Oh, no!” said Hermione). Or it might have been Dumbledore announcing that, unfortunately, Professor Lockhart would be unable to return next year, owing to the fact that he needed to go away and get his memory back. Quite a few of the teachers joined in the cheering that greeted this news.

“Shame,” says Ron, helping himself to a jam doughnut. “He was starting to grow on me.” I snickered and rolled my eyes at hearing that. But one thing that I do know for sure that was nice was my brother hugging me and apologizing for how awful that he had been this year. He told me that he understood that I needed to stand by my friends and that he hoped that I could forgive him.

My only response was to hug him back and slug him on the arm. “You can’t get rid of me that easily brother dearest!” I joked, and he laughed along with me. The awkward part of the evening came when Ariana Dumbledore joined us and Luka shuffled his feet and muttered something under his breath before turning to head back to his table.

“I’m glad you’re not dead Pendragon. We’ve still got five more years to complete before you can even think of being free of me.” She says softly with a smile hugging me to her tightly, as if to reassure herself that I was in fact there with her. To my surprise I actually returned her hug. It shocked Ariana as well, but I reasoned that I only did so to make her feel better.

All in all it was a great night, but even all the festivities couldn’t stop the dark thoughts that were growing from the knowledge about my family. 

* * *

 

The rest of the final term passed in a haze of blazing sunshine. Hogwarts was back to normal with only a few, small differences. Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were canceled (“but we’ve had plenty of practice at that anyway,” Ron told a disgruntled Hermione) and Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as a school governor. Draco was no longer strutting around the school as though he owned the place. On the contrary, he looked resentful and sulky. On the other hand, Ginny Weasley was perfectly happy again.

I still had the unpleasant thoughts bouncing around in my head, and my friends were started to notice the change in my mood. They wanted to know what was wrong but I couldn’t tell them until I had told Luka first. As my brother he deserved to know since this information was just as much about him as it was about me.

Too soon, it is time for the journey home on the Hogwarts Express. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Ginny, and I got a compartment to ourselves. We make the most of the last few hours in which we are allowed to do magic before the holidays. We play Exploding Snap, set off the very last of Fred and George’s Filibuster fireworks, and practice Disarming each other by magic. Harry and I are starting to get good at it, though Harry is a little better.

We are almost at King’s Cross when Harry remembers something. “Ginny — what did you see Percy doing, that he didn’t want you to tell anyone?”

“Oh, that,” says Ginny, giggling. “Well — Percy’s got a girlfriend.” Fred drops a stack of books on George’s head.

“What?” They cry in unison.

“It’s that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater,” says Ginny. “That’s who he was writing to all last summer. He’s been meeting her all over the school in secret. I walked in on them kissing in an empty classroom one day. He was so upset when she was — you know — attacked. You won’t tease him, will you?” she adds anxiously.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” says Fred, who is looking like his birthday has come early.

“Definitely not,” says George, sniggering. I can’t help but grin along with them. The Hogwarts Express slowed and finally stopped. I felt a cold stone of dread settle in my stomach. I’m going to have to get answers now. I’m not looking forward to how that’s going to go.

Harry pulls out his quill and a bit of parchment and turns to Ron, Hermione, and me. “This is called a telephone number,” he tells Ron and me, scribbling it three times, tearing the parchment in three, and handing it to us. “I told your dad how to use a telephone last summer — he’ll know. Call me at the Dursleys’, okay? I can’t stand another two months with only Dudley to talk to. . . .” I sigh remembering that I’m not the only one who has a questionable summer to look forward to.

“Your aunt and uncle will be proud, though, won’t they?” says Hermione as we get off the train and join the crowd thronging towards the enchanted barrier. “When they hear what you did this year?”

“Proud?” says Harry. “Are you crazy? All those times I could’ve died, and I didn’t manage it? They’ll be furious. . . .” I pat him on the shoulder reassuringly as Luka joins him with his own trunk and Sophocles.

And together we walked back through the gateway to the Muggle world, where I wasn’t sure what the summer was going to bring me. This time when I see Kingsley’s face a sense of dread washes over me. This isn’t going to be easy but no matter what it has to be done. Harry’s not the only one looking for answers about his family.

 

The End

(For Now!)


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